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elizabeth-234 · 3 years

Text

Waiting

Previous Chapter Two: Existing

Summary: I’ve been waiting for you, Rey. These are the words she longs to hear. Rey waits her whole life for someone to find her.

Please be aware of tags.

Chapter Three: Arriving

Rey’s eyes no longer watch the sky, they stay permanently on the ground. Instead of being ready to run to the depot, her feet drag deeper into the sand until each step equals a thousand. She no longer scans the faces of those who pass her to see if they are recognizable. It doesn’t matter anyway.

The dream is reality now. It’s like no one can see her. If she could feel afraid, her skin would tremble anytime someone got close to her. What if they could walk right through her? There’s a piece inside that’s missing. The vibrancy humbling her ferocity is gone somewhere and all she is left with is those wild feelings she can’t understand. Plutt packed it in Kit and the trader’s ship and it’s gone like they are.

In another time, Rey would scrap and fight tooth-and-nail for her life; her destiny. She would stop waiting for someone and rescue herself.

But in this time, Rey is tired.

The amount of tick marks on the wall remains the same as that day. Life moves on but Rey feels detached from it. It doesn’t feel like she’s fighting to live anymore but each day is more of a struggle than the last.

Rey tries to limit the time spent in civilization. The sight of the depot sets her stomach in knots, while Plutt sends her into a rage. His smirk becomes more pronounced every time she shows up with parts to sell. Her stomach sours at how he takes advantage of her passive nature, running the prices down even lower, but eventually she has to go.

The sun has set for today. Rey would go tomorrow if not for the sand storm brewing in the air. Something pushes her toward town. It has to be tonight or she’ll be trapped without water for however long the storm stays.

She walks at a brisk pace, the wares she needs to sell strapped onto her back when she hears it. Not many people are out and fewer still react to such a sound anymore. It quiets and another cry echoes from close by. The staff is in her hand and she’s creeping toward the sound before she knows it.

Staying on her path doesn’t ever occur to her. Jakku shares its host of bad memories but she won’t stand by and let more happen on her watch. No matter how hopeless she may be, Rey would never want the same for someone else.

Rey ducks into an alley staff in hand. The sounds of laughter and torment guide her. Around the corner is a group of men some no more than overgrown boys. They hover in a circle. The imposing bodies added together act as a cage for whatever is inside. It’s a scene she knows too well. One that needs metal and gumption to get out of.

The crying continues and they yell down at whoever is there.

“…should teach you!”

“I think it’s time to go home.” She says before stepping out of the shadows and into the alley. Her blood pounds as they look at her.

Rey’s smile is more akin to snarl. A fight would be the perfect way to end the day. She’s ready and her body is already primed for conflict. She gets closer and sees the boy she bought Tuanulberries for so long ago. He’s just as skinny but has a wild look under the tears.

“Why don’t we call it a night. Leave the kid alone?” She says and hopes her itch for a fight isn’t obvious. At least now she can tell herself she gave them a chance to leave.

“Go home, sweetheart. This isn’t any of your concern.” 

Rey shrugs. The alley gets quiet and she can hear their breathing. The younger ones are fidgeting back and forth, deciding between running and fighting, while the older, more experienced folks, are sliding their weapons out as quiet as they can.

For a moment Rey closes her eyes, grounds herself and grins. This isn’t how she thought the night would go. All she wanted to do was get enough credits to get some water so she could shelter in the storm. But now, staring down this group, it was like this was meant to be.

Everyone holds their breath in anticipation before the storm of the fight begins.

The man nearest to her reaches out to grab her wrist. Pain tingles along the tendons in her arm and Rey hisses before bringing her staff down on his wrist. He lets go with a groan, stumbling back a step when Rey brings her leg up and kicks him square in the chest. His breath stutters, gasping under the pressure, and the man crashes into one of the others.

Rey brings her staff forward. Cracked teeth go flying through the air as blood coats the end of her staff. Her body whirls and bends around the people coming at her. One strikes from behind and she ducks inches before his fist connects with her skull. Another one, smaller than the rest, jabs her side. While she holds it and tries to gain her breath the same one slices something sharp across her shin. Rey smiles.

It’s not that she’s winning. There are more of them. They are stronger and bigger than her, not to mention Rey is by herself. Still, it’s invigorating. She can tell by their stances that they are taking her seriously. Their feet are angled wide mirroring with their hands raised to attack.

Rey jumps onto a bin of garbage to survey the chaos around her. She feels powerful. It’s twisted in a way. She’s hurting people even if they were just doing the same thing to someone else. Some of the men still standing turned toward her.

The dream from months ago dawns on her. One, powerful figure fighting alone against dozens. Rey’s stepped into his shoes, for a moment. She is the lone person against all. Everyone is scrambling forward to fight her. Chills spread through her stomach in anticipation and dread at the faces frowning at her.

How would it feel to fight alongside someone like that instead of by herself? Life would have been much more bearable with someone next to her, she thinks. Someone who shared the same wild look that was surely in her eyes.

The men come to her and the fight continues.

Rey makes sure the boy is safe from the impending violence. The tears mixing with blood on his cheek stay in her mind. She can’t find him anywhere in the alley from her point of view. Saving himself; it’s smart. Better than what she’s doing.

Someone catches her from behind, their fingers tangle in the buns she wears in her hair. The pain in her skull makes her sight go blurry. The hiss is automatic but Rey doesn’t allow herself any other noise of weakness.

“Shut up.” He says over his ragged breaths. Rancid breath washes over her. The urge to spit on him is strong but the hand in her hair tightens in warning. She swallows. The end of a gun pokes into her side. Cold seeps into her skin. It should chill her, scare her, to be this close to defeat but Rey doesn’t feel any of that. All she feels is her heart raging in her chest. The man tugs her back again. “Not so smart now. Damn it. Look at the fucking mess she made of your teeth, Nott. I have to say it might be an improvement.”

He laughs into her ear. The hot, breathy chuckle invades her space and for the first time she shivers.

“Fuck off!” Someone yells from below.

“Okay, girlie. You did good but the problem is you stuck your nose where it doesn’t belong and now we have to do something about it. Right, men?” He urged them forward, making sure to keep his body plastered right beside her, stifling any thought of escaping for now. “It’s a dog eats dog world after all.”  

How many times she uses those words to justify surviving in the way she does? Ironic that it is now after years of only looking after herself that she decides to contradict the mantra.

Rey understands they’re fighting to survive. These people are just like her, doing what needs to be done to live on but so must she. Her wrists burn as she pulls away, kicks and yells so that nothing is easy for him. She can’t even stop when the man jerks her to the side and the gun digs further into her side.

“What’s going on here?” A familiar voice says from the entrance of the alley. All eyes turn toward the sound. This is not how she wanted to see Plutt again, his face peering at her with hard eyes behind the end of a blaster riffle.

Frustration begins to prickle at her skin, tugging and sliding underneath the surface. Plutt wouldn’t hesitate to take her out. Their history, although beneficial to him at times, has always held a sort of sour tinge to it, for both of them. It’s born out of reliance and survival and hatred of all of that. He’s the last person she wants to see and judging by the hard set of his mouth, he feels the same.

But if there is one thing living in the desert has taught her is there is no constancy, no right or wrong, and no black and white. Plutt’s next words confirm this contradiction.

“Let the Rat go.”

All she can do is laugh. It bubbles up from her stomach and before Rey can do anything to stop it, she’s full-on gasping in front of everyone. She can’t help it, really, it’s too funny.

How is it that Plutt, of all people, is there defending her? The amount of times he’s told her how worthless and ugly and no-good she is. And Rey hates him and all that he stands for in her life. She hates how, if anyone, the sad excuse for a being has been in her life the longest. That he’s seen her grow from a child to woman, and has taken every chance to belittle her.

Her stomach jolts. Knowing all this doesn’t stop the surprise as a warning shot rings through the alley. The people around her shift back a step.

“I said let the Rat go and you all can go about your night.”

The rifle points at the group just left to where the man’s face presses against the side of her neck. Plutt is as serious as she’s ever seen him. The hand loosens in her hair.

“Alright, alright. No need to be hasty.”

Rey jabs her elbow back into his ribs. She hears a crack but pitches forward out of his grasp. It’s only fitting she sticks her tongue out at him. Her position between Plutt and the men makes her vulnerable. Stuck between the two leaves her skin itching.

Rey turns to walk past Plutt. If his earlier defense is any indication then this is her safest bet. The men behind her murmur to themselves. Besides the groans, and she feels like groaning as well, the talk grows louder. She picks up the pace and tries to ignore it. The good deed is done and the bruises hugging her body will remind her of the choice for a while.

There’s a loud sound, an echo bouncing off the walls and in her ears. How pure it sounds, ringing. And then there’s pain. Fire engulfs her chest burning in a point and swiftly spreading outward. Her eyes widen as she catches Plutt’s eye.

It’s the first time she’s seen this expression on his face. His eyes match her numb terror. The sort of furrowed brows and agape mouth that has never been focused on her before. Strange what this night is bringing her. His hands clench on the holster of the gun before the expression fades. It’s replaced by the hardened look he’s always worn. Plutt turns away before he can see her fall forward.

Rey hates him with everything in her but his cold expression hurt all the more, for some reason. If he hadn’t shown any compassion she wouldn’t have expected any different. But the words in her defense changed something and now, seeing his back, Rey can’t stop the twist in her chest.

“What the fuck….”

“Nott…. why….”

“…asshole…My teeth…”

Rey gasps against the pain. Her body fights the sensation. It’s foreign and terrifying and not right. She shouldn’t be feeling this way. The burning pain is almost numbing in its entirety. What’s going to happen when there’s so much hurt that it becomes nothing?

She tries to move with it, to work with the sensation instead of against. It shoots into her limbs causing tingles to erupt everywhere. Rey staggers and falls as ungraceful as she’s ever been.

The sand siphons out underneath her sideways. Each granule encompasses her in a divot shaped like her body. A faux version of herself, that will be gone in a moment or gust of wind. But isn’t she the same? One particularly strong storm and she’s gone in the sand. Rey is impermanent. It’s apparent now more than ever.

The group she attacked stand behind her. Their yells fade to the background as she watches Plutt disappear.

It’s a dog eats dog world after all, she thinks.

The thought of yelling for help doesn’t even occur to her. Jakku has never offered help to those in need and it never will.

The wound on her chest feels large to her. It’s too much to lift her arm up but all she can imagine is this cavernous, pulsing lesion. The pain wracking down her spine splinters into her limbs. Rey twists her head to the side and watches the sand stain maroon. In a perverse way, she is happy she’s leaving a mark on this earth. It will be gone tomorrow but for now, it feels like her blood, her body might be one with the earth, that she will recycle into the world of another day.

There is one thing she wants to do – before.

“Kid,” She tries though it comes off more as a harsh whisper. “Go 10 klicks west and there’s my lodgings. I have some spare rations and credits tucked away. They’re yours if you need them.”

Her voice fails her and there’s no reply. She hopes the boy has heard. It makes her feel strange to think her food might go to waste. All her life’s saving might be lost to the desert unless the Tuanulberries boy finds it.

Her shirt sticks to her chest, letting a cold start to seep into her bones. Rey tries to turn her head up. She wants to see the sky. The alley fades away or maybe she doesn’t care enough to focus.

When did the pain fade? This numbness isn’t what she expected. It’s unfeeling. It’s nothing. And it weighs down on her. Her arms and legs are frozen against the oppression. Fog creeps in through the corners of her vision.

Rey blinks. Black boots enter her vision, walking toward her in slow, measured steps. They stop by her shoulder before knees slide into view. Large knees padded with some type of resistant black material sink into the sand. They look a bit absurd up close. Rey wants to smile at them. All she can make is a grimace.

Somehow, she knows this is important.

Rey wants – needs – to act despite her wound. It burns as she turns and tears roll down on cheeks but somehow, she manages to move onto her back. She can see the stars, bright and looming from her place on the ground. Any other night and she would be back at her walker, maybe on the roof, staring at them, wishing. Waiting.

Her head lulls over and she can see. Her breath catches.

Oh.

It’s him.

The man from her dream is here, kneeling next to her. Those brown eyes stare at her. They see into her. Rey feels exposed but not uncomfortable at the vulnerability. There’s only acceptance and something warmer in them. The only thing not quite right is the frown muddling his features. The broken mask, the black crown, is nowhere to be seen.

His hand moves forward like he’s done waiting for some invisible sign. She holds her breath. A curse passes his lips when it moves through her arm. Rey can’t help but laugh at the redness of his ears. There’s frustration blatantly written on his face. A furrow in his eyebrows along with a tension along his chin. He’s so familiar to her now. Daydreams and nightmares have featured this stranger, Rey feels like she knows him.

“I know you.” She whispers. Her voice crackles from effort. Rey takes in every detail, hoping, trying to drown herself in him. The freckles dotting his face, the curls escaping their confines behind his ears to flop on his face, his full lips.

“I know you too.” He says back.

Time stretches. Seconds become minutes which soon lose all meaning. Rey can’t feel anything more than a whisper below her neck. It’s obvious what’s happening, though. There’s a detached feeling in her. The sticking patches of blood don’t itch anymore and the gaping hole in her chest let’s blood bubble in what’s left of her lungs.

Rey’s scared. After everything, Rey still holds that little girl, lost and afraid deep inside her. Her fingers twitch. She wants to run and hide in her walker. She wants to go back in time and never set foot in the alley. Rey thinks of all the things she wishes she could have done. Her hopes and dreams might seem small to others but she holds them in her heart. They’re hers to foster and grow; to hang onto no matter what.

Fog crowds the same around them. The man moves again. This time he takes off his glove, exposing his wrist. A delicate hint of skin first. Then his palm, large and battle scared. And his fingers last. They’re long and veined, almost double her own hand size. These are strong hands. Rey’s transfixed as his hand moves closer. She can’t take her eyes off of them.

They both hold their breaths as they watch his fingers creep closer to her. It would be such a simple touch, and yet, it would mean something. This means something.

Warmth.

His skin touches the bindings on her arm first. His hand is big enough to wrap around her bicep with ease, she thinks, but he only stays there for a moment. His fingers sear her. Rey’s cheeks flame.

His other hand comes up, first to trail a finger down her cheek, leaving tingles in his wake before cupping her chin, the bottom of her cheek, and last moving to the back of her neck, cradling the base of her skull. His fingers slide between bits of hair and it’s heaven.

She can feel. Like magic his touches, all light and fleeting, left a wake of awareness behind. Rey feels him. The numbness, better yet, the nothing is gone; fleeting in their oppression against her. Rey could cry from the warmth he gives her. The man tightens his grip and lifts her until she’s sitting up.

It’s a strange sort of embrace. He’s crouched down on his knees, while she is relying on his strength in his arms for support. She’s swaddled, covered, enveloped in his arms. Rey can barely hear over the sound of her heart beating. Its return to force a miracle in itself. Twitches in her fingers turn to flexing and eventually, with effort, she can move her hands fully.

Her racing heart doesn’t improve as she begins to move away. There’s a loss when the arms fall away from her but Rey needs to do this for herself. She sits up, surprise lights her eyes at how easy it is. It should be impossible but under these particular stars it seems as if nothing is. The impossibility of it all doesn’t fall short for her. Rey knows none of this makes sense. Not the lack of pain or the feeling of warmth. Not this mysterious fog filled plane and bright, clear sky. And most impossible of all, not the man who has haunted her dreams and waking moments since she first laid eyes on his striking figure.

The man gets up and after brushing the sand off. It falls to the ground, disappearing into the fog but Rey can’t take her eyes off of him. The confidence and cadence of his movements. It’s ethereal to watch how graceful he is. He looks back to her and Rey holds her breath.

He extends his hand.

It hovers between them, waiting for her decision.

But there’s no question whether she will take it or not. When once she hesitated, Rey moves in seconds. Her hand slides into his. It’s returning.

Dimly she realizes she’s right in her earlier observation and his hand is double her own. She wants to hold on forever. To take this freely offered lifeboat and never relinquish her stake of it. How can something be so strong and soft at the same time?

“I’m Rey.” She says. Caution tempers her enthusiasm. Her instincts have protected her this long. So, she searches his eyes and squeezes his hand as tight as possible, letting steel seep into her mouth. Rey fights the urge to show her teeth and ends up smiling. He smiles back. His cheeks dimple. Rey’s stomach flips as he pulls her up off the ground and closer to his hulking figure.

“I’m Ben.” He replies.

The name doesn’t really fit what she knows of him. It’s so unassuming and tame. The moniker contradicts the warrior in her dream. She watches him waiting for her reaction. His voice is deep and like his arms, it warms her.

Realization hits. After months of eyes haunting her every step, she finally knows his name. It’s more intimate putting a name to his face. She can begin to know him now. The possibility crashes against her, sweeping and pulling and engulfing her with the prospects this could bring. She longs for someone to share her space and live a life with, for someone to be a partner besides, and someone to know her. It’s everything she wants – needs.

They’re still holding hands and he makes to walk away into the fog when she pulls back and stops him.

Something in her chest tightens. An urge overcomes her, pressing her to check something. She feels unfinished, like she isn’t done with what she was doing before, although Rey can’t seem to remember what was before.

Ben’s hand tightens.

“Don’t look back.” He says with another tug on her hand.

The fights still in her. Her willfulness to ignore and do what she wants are foundations deep inside but a small part of her knows what she would see; is scared to put an image to it. Ben’s smile is strained but sincere. She watches wrinkles crinkle the corners of his eyes and wants to trust him.

There is no future with the girl lying in the alley, alone till the end.

Her hand flexes around his and they walk away, neither looking back.

“How did you know?” Rey manages to ask when words can come to her.

He turns toward her and bends down so their foreheads touch. Her heart races. She’s struck with the intimacy of the action, the vulnerability. It’s so endearing Rey leans into it. The stars are there, full of possibilities

They walk for what feels like forever and like no time has gone by. Her muscles never sore and though her life follows her it doesn’t weigh her down anymore.

They reach a change in atmosphere, the fog clears. A door of sorts appears before them. It swings open after a moment and light shines upon them.

Rey sees a thousand possible outcomes of her old life. She sees battles and hardships, tears and rages. Some are filled with an endless loneliness and the familiarity of that makes her cry. But some are filled with laughter, full bellies, and life-long friends. Those also bring tears to her cheeks. Sometimes Ben is there as an enemy or something else entirely but no matter what past she sees, she can see how hard that girl fights. Satisfaction fills her.

The images change and Rey sees her future.

Rey turns to Ben. Her cheeks hurt and she’s convinced she’s never smiled as much in her whole life as she has at that very moment. Rey feels like she’s shining and in return he shines back.

Ben angles his head to the side. His cheek caresses hers sliding down until their lips are even. His lips press against the corner of her mouth, no more than a whisper of a touch. Rey sighs, but she’s done waiting and twists her head so their lips meet head-on. She’s so warm against him and her universe widens to the feel of his lips against hers. The tentative swipe of his tongue against her lips and then a courageous answer from her. He tastes like the darkness before the dawn, like the promise of everything. Rey kisses Ben like there is no tomorrow and Ben kisses Rey back like they have forever and a day to love each other.

They pull away for air. Their foreheads rest against each other, breath mingling like a secret between them. Rey twists her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. Ben gazes into her eyes and softly whispers.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Rey.”

Thank you for reading.

#reylo #reylo au #rey nobody #ben solo #kylo ren #star wars #star wars triology #fic #fanfic #star wars fic #angst #major character death #major character injury

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elizabeth-234 · 3 years

Text

Waiting

Please be aware of tags.

Previous Chapter One: Waiting

Chapter Two: Existing

The sand wears her down while the heat melts the rest of her to little more.

Rey does the best she can. No physical dangers get to her – she’s always been stubborn as a mule and in the real world, action has always been her strong suite. No, what hurts her the most is that no one can get to her. Neither her parents or some faceless stranger is coming for her. Not even her dreams are safe.

The dream left her more alone than she’d ever been and the harsh wasteland of Jakku starves out the few fantasies she clung onto. Survival becomes a chore. It’s tedious waking in the morning. All Rey wants to do is curl up on her small bed and stay hidden from the world; from herself.

As much as she wants to think the dream wasn’t real it continues to haunt her. All this pain is penance for her inaction. At the crucial moment she should have done something to help, Rey stalled and let her fear overtake her. Now her fear is this huge creature. It follows her, shadows her every movement and whispers that she let him die by indecision. That the inaction was their destruction.

It can’t happen again so she forces herself to move when nothing sounds worse. Rey makes herself get out of the bed. When she tucked in the corners so they wouldn’t drag on the floor, now she leaves them hanging. Still, she gets up. Food is the last thing on her mind but if she can make herself eat half a ration, she can function through the day. It’s enough.

Climbing the shipwrecks gets harder. Her muscles ache and her mind is no longer curious about what could be buried in the shadowed rooms and abandoned hallways. It feels like she’s picked through them time and again. It feels like she’s a ghost walking through the empty rooms. That no one can see or hear her.

Once she gets to the depot, the opposite occurs and it’s almost worse. The people’s untrusting eyes are full of hatred. She’s an outsider though her life has passed on this planet the same as any of them. She burdens herself with their stares and hate just to be around someone. Rey tries not to dwell on how pathetic that is but every time someone spits at her or tries to bargain a bad deal, the knot constantly pulsing in her chest recedes for a moment.

Rey’s good at surviving even if her heart isn’t in it. Her bed may call but she won’t let inaction claim her again.

How long can someone be alone, Rey wonders?

It’s six months following her birthday. Her dreams of battles and black crowns shielding dead, brown eyes haunt her night after night.

The morning cold creeps through all the cracks and crevices of her shelter, stealing away under the covers to chill her spine. Rey’s been awake for hours but unwilling to get up. She moves her head up till it rests against the wall so she can see out the window. Sand blows in a never-ending stream. That’s all there is.

She forces herself up, packs her bags, and is gone before long, ready to turn in loot from the other day. Her bike revs under her thighs as the depot comes into view. Jakku doesn’t receive many visitors at any time of the year but now, it’s especially unusual. She spots a new ship kicking up dust as it descends. Her heart burns and she drives faster. Who lands on this godforsaken planet?

Rey resists the urge to run right up to the new ship and goes about her day. She parks the speeder and gathers the materials so she can get enough credits for the rest of the week.

Plutt’s unpleasant sneer remains as she remembers. “Take it or leave it, Rat. Of course, you know there’s other ways to get more credits.”

The threats, which are nothing new, form a pit in her stomach. Without a word she grabs the credits and turns around. If she could do more than growl. If she could stand up for herself without risking death. It’s not worth it to attack, she repeats for the thousandth time. Sometimes her action lies in a greater inaction. Last time she’d barely made it through his barricade against her.

The vendors in the market stare without offering anything. Everyone knows her and her limited funds. They hate her because she can’t buy anything from them. They scowl at her because she can’t save them from the desert that they’re all drowning in.

She hates it too.

Rey looks anyway ignoring everyone else until a small child catches her eye. The boy has long hair tied in messy pigtails. Wisps of hair slip out of the lazily done bands. He stretches on his tiptoes to try and reach some Tuanulberries at a stand. The vender who Rey knows has had their fair share of left, pushes the child off with a warning. Children’s funds are even scarcer than hers. The child’s head hands down. It’s a dog eats dog kind of world, she thinks.

Rey turns around to return to her speeder, then stops. She repeats the phrase in her head again before walking off and buying a handful of the fruit. The alley where the boy disappeared to isn’t far and she finds him with no problems.

He doesn’t thank her; he doesn’t say much of anything as she approaches him. Rey keeps low to the ground with her hands out in front of her. With slow, dragging steps she moves as close as she would to a feral animal. They all are in a way here.

She can’t help the smirk that makes its way onto her face thinking about how she must’ve looked as a child. All gangly arms and permanent frowns. She has and will always be wild. Rey was forged in it and time has only sharpened her.

This stranger is the same from the way his eyes track her hands to how he grabs the fruit and runs off without a word. Something in her chest feels tight but she stomps out the worry for the nameless child. He has to learn to survive one way or another, just like everyone else.

The real test is when nothing seems possible. Maybe it’s when Plutt won’t extend credits or the scavenging isn’t yielding anything of worth. Maybe it’s the dry spells or changes in weather that leave the skin flaky and irritated. Maybe it’s just all the nothing; all the nothing filled with more nothing tasks to distract from the waiting. All of these weed out someone. Not necessarily the weak, for it takes any and all, but they still take and take. They test and test, and you either survive or you don’t. Rey can’t help but hope the child will make it.

She finds herself walking to the new ship with less enthusiasm than before. Peering around the corner of the station, a group of persons disembarks off the ship. Her eyes scan each face with wild ferocity. Though it hurts to watch them come, it will be much worse when they leave. To see the red of the engines, disappear into the endless sky and to know once again nothing happened left a mark.

It’s when they are unloading trade goods that she thinks of it. Of all Plutt’s ships for ‘sale’, none of them were ever really a possibility to buy. The shipyard is more than just a scam, it’s a graveyard. The ships themselves are overpriced for what their rusting, cheap metals, and in truth it would take more than Jakku had to offer in order to fix them up. The parts missing for decades if they would even work anymore.

This ship is new, though. It hasn’t been ground-down by the sand storms and unpredictable desert weather. If she could get aboard this ship, if Rey could find a way to leave with these traders, maybe she could leave.

Rey flattens her back against the wall and stares up at the sky. She doesn’t let her hopes rise. Her practical nature is a necessity for the plan and her mental stamina.

From the looks of the flats and boxes they unloaded, they are traders. Rare in these days on Jakku but the perfect opportunity. Her determination grows. Rey watches them from a distance until their work is done. They go to one of the older cantinas on the other side of town to rest and eat.

The credits she made today are supposed to last the week but this her chance. A hint of recklessness surges through her veins. She will stick to the plan no matter what but it’s like the atmosphere broke and the universe is open before her for the first time. Space and prospect and freedom all in her grasp.

Rey walks straight into the bar with her decision made. It’s dark now and the shadows have long since bled into the night. The barkeep is known to her. They’re dangerous but not threatening to paying customers. Her shoulders don’t relax.

“What will you be drinking?” They say.

“I’d like a meal. Hot.”

One thing she will never waste credits on is any sort of alcohol. It is no more than them throwing away on drink that could be dangerous. A lower inhibition and lack of awareness will not help her. Her stomach is cramping from the lack of food this morning. She’s about to ask where her food is at when a large bowl of something is placed in front of her.

Rey wonders how the food from Jakku looks to outsiders. How does it measure up? Either way, she tucks in while holding back a groan. The contents of the bowl may be grey (and a bit slimy) but it’s the best she’s had in a while. Rations have nothing on this.

Half disappears before she has time to breath. Her left arm curls in front of the bowl while the other is fast as lightspeed between the bowl and her mouth. With only half there, she takes a moment to glance around the establishment. Loitering people, all she’s vaguely familiar with, run along the edges and, there, in the corner are the traders.

Their appearance is rough in the way that shows off hard work. Their clothes are dirty and torn along the edges but, with a glance down, their shoes are sturdy, reliable. Hard work is familiar and it bodes well that these traders aren’t flashy in wealth and privilege. Those are either dangerous to themselves, people won’t hesitate to take attack displays of wealth here. And if they are bent on showboating power they don’t have, well, that’s just as bad.

She scans their clothes and is satisfied with the modest patches and designs she finds. Her eyes meet one of them. For a moment Rey thinks of running. Instead she takes a breath, squares her shoulders and nods. They return the gesture and after a soft word with their companion, get up, and make their way toward her.

The original plan is to eat and meet with the group together. She hopes she can charm them though she’s never been complimented on her people skills. After that, it is sort of up in the air, which is not like her. All Rey knows is it’s vital to convince them. She’s certain that if she doesn’t get off this planet, she will wind up trapped in the sand, lost for all time waiting for someone who will never come.

In the back of her mind, Rey wonders what they see when they look at her. She should have washed this morning instead of leaving at first light. What if her own rough appearance hinders the whole operation? They sit next to her and she knows it’s too late. They watch her from the corners of their eyes. Rey’s head sits at the same height as their shoulders. Green skin and read eyes are unfamiliar but don’t bother her.

It’s as silent as a bar can be until, “What in tarnation is that?”

Rey follows their gaze. She stares at her food. The grey, shapeless stew’s almost gone and her stomach clenches in mourning for the meal before answering.

“Dinner and I’ll not have you say a bad word about it.”

Kriff, if this isn’t going sourly. Why did she have to defend the food? It didn’t care and she knows that’s not how to win friends. The moment draws long. Rey hurries to eat the few chunks while making sure she stays alert. She winces at a sudden noise beside her. They laugh, their mouth splitting into a wide grin sending wrinkles around their eyes.

“We’ve all been there, kid. though I’ve never had the…pleasure of this particular meal before.”

Rey shrugs. Her shoulders relax an inch as she scopes the last bit out. With one last deep breath, she turns to face them. Their green skin tone reflects deeper in the dim lights. Their smile fades.

“So, what had you watching us all day?”

Despite the less than warm tone Rey grins. She appreciates the straightforwardness. It’s not rude so much as familiar. Rey doesn’t let uncertainty creep into her yet. There’s no time for the longing in her to show, even less for her vulnerability. Like many of the animals in the desert she needs to strike before she is brought down.

“You’re taking me with you when you leave port.”

This time there is no laughter in response. She’s aware that the others in their group are staring at them, staring at Rey who is a stranger staring them down by herself. Still, she doesn’t let the naked truth into her voice. There is no choice. Rey will die if she stays any longer. This has to work.

“I’m a scavenger. That means I’m resourceful. I have to be to live on Jakku. I know my way around a ship. Can do any work you need done. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty,” She gestures to her sand-stained hands. “And I can pay. Not a lot, but you wouldn’t need to give me wages or anything until I earned my keep. I …”

Her voice wavers. What if it’s not enough? What if she’s not enough? Soon, alternative plans come to mind. It would be easy enough to steal onto the ship or somehow threaten them enough to get a spot. Her fingers twitch to the staff at her side.

“What’s your name?” They ask before she can get any further. Their eyes linger on her fingers and staff.

“I’m Rey, Just Rey.” 

“Well, Just Rey,” They say with a small grin. “You’re in luck as we happen to need ourselves a little grease monkey and you look small enough to do the job. I’m Kit and welcome you to the team.”

The knot in her stomach unravels a bit. Rey can’t help but grin. She’s always been bad at hiding her emotions but it doesn’t seem to matter so much right now. Caution and suspicious vie for control in her brain. The traders can trust her or not. They can just use her for their next mission and dump her somewhere else. It doesn’t matter as long as she leaves.

Her and Kit talk details well into the night. Her caution goes deep so they double check everything. The more they talk, the more hope buds in her. The ease of it all scares her but she pushes that down. Something easy is a nice change. Her only worry is that they talk to Plutt. A kind word about her has never left his lips.

Rey curls into her mattress, bones made of jelly, and stares at the tally marks carved into the wall. The freshest one is deep and dark against the grey walls.

It’s too good to be true. That much is obvious. Rey doesn’t care. This could be her last tally mark on the wall. The rest could forever stay blank and impervious to the passing of time. The chair across from her at meals wouldn’t have to be empty. She wouldn’t have to stare at the unfilled seat and know what it meant to her anymore. Her body doesn’t have to travel across the desert another day. Protesting muscles and chapped lips would be from something else and not from the unending sand.

Change is what she wants and needs. Rey’s been starving for too long and desires a breath of fresh air. Her dreams haunt her. They trail right in her shadow no matter how hard she tries to run. So, it doesn’t matter if it’s too good to be true. The hope that her salvation is among the stars overweighs the fears that she won’t find it anywhere.

They leave tomorrow morning. One more day of heat and desert and loneliness before she joins the crew. Butterflies swarm in her stomach. She eats a full ration in celebration before packing up and going to the big wreck.

Its large hulk is enough to provide some shade. Most of the panels have been stripped off before so it’s hard climbing into the inside. The danger means there’s a better possibility for more bounty to find anyway.

Kit required more money to be convinced. Rey might have misled them on the amount she has saved so one last scavenging excursion is required. The trip is a sendoff in a way. Old habits die hard and while she hated this, there’s also a part of her that loves scavenging as well. She’s good at it. The hidden gems only she can find on the brink of death and nurture back to life with careful tinkering.

She loves her talent and ability. Even more when Plutt makes that small scoffing noise in the back of his throat. He’s impressed but doesn’t want to say anything. It leaves Rey content for days to know she’s one of the best. She climbs until her legs are shaking and her whole body is sweaty, finding a few good things as she goes.

The speeder dips under the weight but it moves as smoothly as it always has. Rey hauls the finds up to Plutt’s counter. He smirks to himself as he goes through the items. His slow perusal grates on her nerves but she holds still. It wouldn’t do well to show impatience today.

“That’s only a 3-portion reactor.”  

“Last week it was at least a 6.” 

She doesn’t argue as much as she could. Her stomach is rolling and she taps her finger against the counter. Her distraction is her downfall. The way Plutt is just holding off his smile and how his eyes shift between her and the station with increasing frequency passes her attention.

Rey doesn’t gloat when he gives her the credits. She’s learned to hold her cards close to her chest. A part of her wants to throw her plan in his face. The satisfaction in telling him off; how she hates him and hopes she rots behind that counter might be worth it. Maybe.

Rey turns away when he finally speaks.

“It’s a pity that band of traders had to leave so soon.”

She stiffens but keeps her expression blank. His hand is resting under his chin. He licks his upper lip before smiling.

“You know how they are. Here one day and gone the rest.”  

Her heart stops beating before beginning to race. It’s not true. Plutt is lying. There is no other way. He always lies. Why should this time be any different?

“I don’t believe you.” She says before she can stop herself. Plutt leans forward pointing at her.

“Don’t believe me? You know I always looked after you when you were a little ankle biter. What makes you think that would have changed now?”

“What did you do?” She whispers. Her hands clench at her sides.

“I was surprised when they came to sell some of their wares. You know how conversations start going and they tell me about this girl they’re taking on. How scrappy and determined she is. How she’s paying them of all things. I thinks to myself, not my little Rat. It can’t be true, but they insisted until I let them know exactly what you are. How could I let them take my best scavenger, after all?” 

Rey’s limbs go numb. She can scarcely gather that after all this time it’s the first complement she’s heard from the vagrant and, of course, it would be delivered with a poisoned tone.

Rey hates him; has always hated him. When she was left, starving on the streets and he took her in she hated the shackles that limited her. When he let her live a part she hated how she was still indebted to him, how she would never be rid of him.

She snarls and runs forward, staff in hand. There’s nothing to limit her now. Rey pounds on the bars and whips the staff through them so its jabbing into Plutt’s throat.

“What did you do?” She yells not caring that she’s lost all form of nonchalance. Her voice is shaking and all of her dreams turn to dust once again. “Damn it! What did you do?”

All he does is laugh and grab a ray gun from under the counter. She flexes her fingers sending the staff deeper into his thick neck before releasing the tension. Rey can’t bear to look at him for another second. He’s every negative thing about Jakku manifested into a slimy, manipulative piece of shit.

Rey kicks the dirt at her feet and spits over the counter so a large glob lands on his cheek. She doesn’t stay to see how he reacts. When she gets to the station, out of breath and aching, their ship is gone. Kit and the rest disappeared like they’d never landed in the first place. Her eyes stray toward the sky. They search for the ship but there’s nothing.

An ache blooms in her knees when they hit the cement. She’s too tired to cry but it doesn’t stop the low keening moan from leaving her lips. The desert has scorched her for too long and now it’s stolen her tears.

Rey makes it to her bed. She doesn’t bother eating or marking another day on her wall. The water is running low but she doesn’t care.

Days pass into weeks.

Survival is mind numbing. Each day repeats and still Rey is there. Merely existing.

Next Chapter Three: Arriving

#reylo #reylo au #ben solo #rey nobody #kylo ren #star wars #star wars triology #major character death #death #angst #sadness

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elizabeth-234 · 3 years

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Waiting

First time I've written for Star Wars fandom! Please be advised of the warnings.

Summary: I’ve been waiting for you, Rey. These are the words she longs to hear. Rey waits her whole life for someone to find her.

AO3

Chapter One: Waiting

I’ve been waiting for you, Rey.

These are the words she longs to hear.

Rey waits her whole life for someone to find her.

Her eyes never fall from the sky, always watching the stars; always dissecting every new ship to see who disembarks. Her feet brace themselves in the sand, ready at a moment’s notice to run toward the depot. Rey’s mind scans the people’s faces for any detail. The hope that she would know if any travelers were her parents, even if the pencil only hovers over the page with no images coming to her mind when she goes to draw them on scrape paper, is wearing thin.

She waits for a sign of them until the hope fades. Rey waits until she’s old enough to give up on childhood dreams.

No one will come for her.

The hope lingers but soon enough the ache in her chest is too much. Rey knows she will never leave Jakku. It’s this absolute that changes the dreams. Instead of her family coming to her, she dreams of strangers. They’re nothing more than faceless bodies but they rush to her AT-AT. Her small table is filled with silence and her rations are shared between them, instead of going to the wrecks of old ships alone someone would be there among the old ghosts with her, and at night when the cold settles in, they can share their heat.

These wishes ground her. They can happen, she argues with herself when it looks like all other hope is lost. Rey knows she’ll never leave this planet. It feels like she’s somehow ingrained in the sand, or maybe, the sand is ingrained in her. The harsh weather turns her sour and more skeptical as the days pass. She waits as if there is nothing else to do. She survives on the fumes of this. But it’s a harsh realization even those meager dreams are too much.

Rey turns twenty-five. The exact date of her birth is a mystery but as a child she chose one for herself. No one else knows there’s anything different about today. Her birthday is a secret she keeps to herself. It’s just another tick mark on her wall but still, she keeps her shoulders back a little straighter.

It’s not ancient, she thinks. People who survive past childhood tend to cling to their lives on Jakku despite how each year added is more dangerous than the last. Their wills to spite the harsh planet ever at odds with the realities of life here.

Her self-proclaimed birthday is when everything changes and, like so many things, it doesn’t really change anything at all in the grand scheme of things.

Rey throws a wrist over her eyes and tries to sleep for some minutes longer. Rest never comes with ease to her. With danger around every corner, she has to be alert and ready. Even as sleep comes to her, it’s a struggle to survive whatever nightmares her subconscious dreams up.

Tonight, her legs move through smoke and fog so thick Rey can’t see what’s in front of her. The mist seeps into her lungs making the task of breathing a burden. Rey’s running as fast as she can. She doesn’t know why but it’s an enormous effort not to stop. The dream urges her forward.

On and on she goes with muscles screaming in protest until, with an uncanny shift of the wind, the smoke shifts. It creeps toward the periphery. Bodies surround her. They pile in grotesque heaps every way she turns leaving no route to run. Still, the dream urges her forward. It’s slow climbing over them. Bile rises in her throat at the sounds. The crunching stays with her during odd hours of the coming days.

She slides down a mountain of them, ignoring the way it feels like their hands grab at her. The dead don’t move, she tells herself.

The view that greets her is the same and different. It’s war that surrounds her. People in white and brown armor clash together. Red drips from every surface leaving no color untainted. War surrounds her, engulfs her in its endless barrage, but somehow, despite her walking further into the violence, nothing touches her. It’s like she’s physically away from it all. Like she’s not real.

Cold sweeps through her limbs. Dreams should be different than real life in some way but this is frighteningly similar. That invisible feeling is familiar and though she wears it like an old cloak, a part of her hates the way the people of her planet’s eyes go through her. And Rey hates how her solitude continues even in her dreams. How her isolation is so integral to her life that it follows her past reality.

Even so she moves in and out of the chaos. No blood or wounds mar her body; not a body hair is out of place. In the face of the falling bodies it feels hallow. The world blurs for a moment. She wipes a hand across her face to find tears dampening her cheeks. Every time her hand reaches forward to help one of the soldiers, it glides right through them. Every time, she thinks she can provide some help and is wrong. If she can just steady their fall to the ground, Rey thinks, but her hand passes through them.

Why is she here? Why can’t she help?  

Rey scans the crowds of people. Is there a purpose to these apparitions or is her destiny to watch with no alternative? The horrors through the room continue happening. Blood and cries for help and the stench of death rise up. Rey’s about to turn around, to run in hopes of finding her way out, when she sees him.

He’s larger than any man she’s seen and robed in black from head to foot. The dark panels lining his body move with him in perfect unison, spreading and flying behind him like a fallen angel’s wings. The helmet adorning his head is the only aspect of his appearance not faultless. Splinters of it are cracked off and tilted back at an odd angle. On someone else it might look meager or proof of mistakes on the battle field. He wears it like a broken crown; like it is his birthright. All sharp pikes and menacing edges reach to the heavens, whether in exaltation or threat, she can’t tell. Rey can barely make out the left side of his face. She sees a glimpse of an eye and a hint of a thick eyebrow through the crack but not enough to see him.

People surround him, swing at him, and try to hurt him. He is their target, if their formation, increasingly tight to him, is any indication. Still, outnumbered and alone, he fights on. There’s something in the sheer wildness radiating from his body that reminds Rey of herself. Each swing is filled with such strength. Every snarl and harsh jab hold a fierce amount of life despite the encompassing death. She can’t help but think of herself, fighting alone against the desert that is her home. They are the same in a way.

All of his opponents are brought down and he is alone atop a raised platform. The eye visible to her is alight with fury. Rey shivers at the fire held in it. His chin is pointed up as he stares down at all the other soldiers clambering up to replace the ones that fell before. Light shines on him from behind and he looks like a prince staring down at enemies invading his territory. The strong planes of his chest and sweeping arches of his arms only give power to him. He reaches down to his belt, unhooking something from his tight waist.

A beam of light coming from his clasped hands. Its size reminds her of her staff. As she watches the fight, Rey thinks she might be able to convert some of the moves he uses for herself. But the similarities stop there. This weapon is pure energy. It’s as if the man conducts the heat from his soul into the blade, sharpening it into a blade powerful enough to kill. His swings are far reaching, using every muscle to their maximum potential. He makes no wasted energy or unnecessary movement. That confidence, the belief he is powerful enough to defeat anyone in his way, is magnetizing. Rey craves that feeling for herself; wants to soak in any excess coming off of him she can.

Her heart races at the sight of him.

She begins to make her way toward the platform, drawn to the eye of the battle. The process is slow as ducks and bends out of the way of the others fighting around her. She knows she doesn’t have to but it alleviates the unnatural reminder of her transparency.

Her eyes are drawn to the man again and again. It’s just to make sure he’s still fighting; that he hasn’t given up, she thinks. The place hidden in her chest pulses, almost pushing her forward onto the platform. A burning sensation fills her chest the closer she gets. Energy she’s never felt before expands making it hard to breath under its breadth.

In the back of her mind, the future spins out of control. All the phantom guests at her kitchen table becomes this tall stranger. Her bed, just right for her before, becomes cramped and tight due to the body next to her. Her future so blank before opens wide as the desert and it hurts so wonderfully.

The battle rages on in screams and cries and blood until, without warning, everything stops. Silence presses against her; suffocating her body and mind. The desert closes before her. Rey gasps and her eyes turn toward to the platform automatically.

Life teaches her time and again there is no permanence to anything; nothing will be a part of her besides its ruthless heat and sand. She knows this but the wisp of a promise made her forget. The moment of her future slips away before it is anything but a dream. It makes it harder when his face, the portion of skin seeking light from behind the dark mask, drains of vitality. He staggers fighting against an unseen enemy. Rey can’t help but cry out when he falls.

Her breath beats against her ribs, stuck and anxious like a bird trapped in a cage. But Rey is never one for stillness. Already she’s running. Her arms pump at her sides urging her legs to move faster. She tries desperately not to think of the wide alarm in his expression.

Nothing touches her so she runs through anyone in her way. Does it mean Rey can’t touch anything either? There’s a grain of hope still left in her, buried at the back of her mind. Maybe the universe isn’t fully against her. Maybe she can help.

A stray tear rolls down her face. If the situation were any less dire, if she had any time to think, there would be nothing but amazement at the salty liquid on her cheeks. So long has passed since Rey’s cried that she was sure the sands had soaked up all her tears. But there’s no time to reflect over the bittersweet miracle, she knows only that she must go forward.

Rey is oblivious to the bodies around her and the apparent change in them. Too focused on her goal, she doesn’t see when they morph into something less. They lose their colors. The blood dripping onto the floor begins to drain of its pigmentation. Their clothes fade to the background and as she runs to the platform, the soldiers remaining on the battle field begin to turn to dust; still fighting as they leave the world.

The altar stands erect and imposing in front of her at last. She makes it in time to see the man grasping in wild jerks at his neck. It’s so quick Rey thinks she might have imagined it but the gold collar behind him moves into the light for but a moment. Pale skin shines against the light revealing a glimpsed of the person who’s hurting him. She moves to attack but the flesh and gold disappear so all that is left in whatever nightmare this is are her and him.

The man struggles to stand. His hands scratch at his chest. There should be some wound on his person - something to visualize the pain in his eyes to the world but she can’t see anything besides his dark clothes.

After a breath, she doesn’t know why but there’s a ball of churning fear in her stomach, he falls to his knees. Rey is spurred into action. She snarls at whoever was standing behind him before moving to kneel. Her hands rise to hover over his chest. They tremble but she needs to do something – anything. Still, she holds back.

What if she can’t touch him?

Maybe the universe is truly against her. The urgency forward tugs at her chest even know but her fear of not being able to do anything is just as strong.

What if her hand glides through his body?

What if she’s not really here?

He coughs a ragged and distorted sound up as his body falls sideways onto the floor. It seems wrong at how vulnerable he looks in the movement. The mask, that fallen angel’s crown, tips to the side on impact and rolls off the platform. It makes not a sound but she watches the regal spikes move along the ground until they too turn into dust and melt into fog. His face turns toward her and she sees him, unfettered and clear, for the first time.

Heartbeat racing in her chest, her eyes move to see everything, afraid he might disappear. No longer scratching to gain breath, his hands rest against his rapidly rising and falling chest. They aren’t relaxed, though. Nothing about his posture is relaxed. There’s something desperate at the way he’s clutching at his heart. The way his hands are all tendons and strained muscles. Can he feel the strange knot she feels in her chest as well?

Her eyes travel to his wide shoulders, armored torso, and covered neck. Even lying down, he is taught with energy. The breadth of his chest nothing like the people she’s seen on Jakku who are most wasting away into the sand. He is strong. He is strength. Not wanting to linger, her eyes come to rest on his face.

Has she ever seen him before?

His features, though, are unfamiliar at first glance. Rey takes in his dark eyebrows and full lips before noticing the smaller details. There’s sweat clinging to his upper lip connecting with the deep flush lingering on his cheeks and arresting nose. His expression is, like the rest of him, not serene. The grimace in his eyebrows and mouth looks permanent. A lone tear releases from one of his closed eyes to curve down his cheek and fall into his curled hair.

Her chest burns at this show of weakness. She can’t breathe. Everything about him screams loneliness. It hasn’t escaped her notice he hasn’t once cried out for help. His fighting style, all wide angles and moving so no one has a chance to sneak up behind him, tells everything she needs to know about how he has had to fight. No one is on the platform with him. No one is rushing to help. His breathing surges becoming more erratic and he still utters no sound.

Rey can’t be the one to fail him. Not when she’s waited her whole life to be there for someone and to have someone be there for her. The weariness and fear course through her blood. Her only hope is someone else comes; that someone better and more able comes to save him.

The fog grows closer to his prone body.

No one comes.

Slowly, Rey crawls closer. Her knees almost touch his waist. His eyes are closed against the lights blaring down on them. She realizes she never had the chance to see what color they are. Her hands move toward his face and mimic a caress to his cheek. He doesn’t move, doesn’t open his eyes but keeps his face upward but stares straight ahead at the ceiling. It looks as if he’s waiting for something.

Rey can’t stand it. The knot in her chest pushes against her ribs making it hard to breath. She’s being a coward and that’s something she knows she is not. Rey hasn’t survived all these years to not move at this crucial moment. All the questions and doubts and hope have to be pushed aside in favor of action. That’s all this world cares about anyway. Action is what gets things done. Action is how you survive, not through things like hope and fear.

Her hand falls to his cheek. It’s so cold she gasps. His eyes snap open.

Oh.

Their eyes meet.

His eyes are brown.

Her world condenses to that one color and she wishes everything could be painted in it. Jakku would be a much warmer and welcoming place if it were filled with that deep tone. If only everyone can experience the utter peace and warmth coming from them. Rey feels the pull of a smile at her lips and the answering twitch to his lips sends her soaring. The hint of teeth peaking out leave butterflies in her stomach when his head rolls back away from her hand.

His hair hands limp on the floor, the curls loose and limp against the black, and his expression changes so suddenly. That tight, cautious strength turns unguarded in its stillness.

Rey croons. Her hand cups his head in order to turn his face back to her so she can see into his eyes again. Something in her wants to find out what he was waiting for.

Her hand goes through his body which lays, solitary and unprotected, on the tallest platform in a cold, fog-filled room.

And she’s alone once again. Rey wakes in a sweat before the sun rises.

It’s only her and Jakku.

Next Chapter Two: Existing

#reylo #reylo fic #rey nobody #ben solo #kylo ren #major character death #fic #star wars #star wars trilogy #star wars trilogy fic #angst #sad #major character injury #canon violence

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elizabeth-234 · 3 years

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new chapter (19)!

The Supplejack

Summary: Peter Parker has been alone his whole freshman year but finds hope when Stark Industries announces a science competition. The prize? An internship with Tony Stark.

AO3

Fanfiction

Chapters: One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven - Eight - Nine - Ten - Eleven - Twelve - Thirteen - Fourteen - Fifteen - Sixteen - Seventeen - Eighteen - Nineteen -

#peter parker #writing fanfic #fanfiction #iron dad #spiderson

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elizabeth-234 · 3 years

Text

The Supplejack

Previous Chapter Eighteen: Existing

Chapter Nineteen: A Phone Call

As the weeks passed, Peter struggled in vain against the extra workload of his sophomore year classes. The balance between work, school, friends, and himself was everchanging, ever in threat of tipping off the edge of the proverbial blade. Though the latter was pushed to the side with increasing frequency and his bed was becoming more of a rare luxury much to his dismay.

The tub of tabouli, hummus, and carrots sat uneaten in front of him while Mike explained again why the discourse surrounding the new Firefly show was important to their group and the larger culture abroad.

“It’s a western in space, guys, how can you not like it? Plus, Nathan Fillion is working it. You know he’s damn charming.”   

“It’s basically a soap opera and you know it.” Midge said, arms crossed in front of them.

Mike sputtered and Ned stepped in before anyone else would get more offended. Still pouting his lips, Mike turned away from them and started shoveling down his lunch. Midge just sighed. Peter shifted in his seat wondering if he should say anything when Ned bumped shoulders with him.

“You okay?”

He forced a smile on his face. Ned waited for an answer, his eyes open and earnest. The expression made something in Peter’s chest ache. This bitter tug nestled down behind his ribs. Ned was dragged along in all of this. What started as befriending a lone boy in an empty classroom had turned into trying to gather intel from two of the biggest corporations in the world. Still, his friend was right there for him, ready and unfailingly patient with a smile.

“Want to hang out this weekend?” Peter asked instead of answering the question.

He wanted to do something. To have fun and get out of the house for once. His work shifts were pretty stacked up but it was worth it to rearrange them. Ned agreed if his answering smile was any indication.

“Yeah, dude. There’s this cool exhibit downtown about brainwashing. Maybe weird but it could be cool.”

“Sounds fun.” He said.

“Yeah, they get all these big companies to put something together. I’m surprised you know who didn’t do it. I hear Oscorp is holding one in the fall.” 

Peter rubbed his chest. The cafeteria noise rushed toward him. All the laughter and words and echoes pressed against him, weighing down. His smile felt wobbly to him but hoped it came off as sincere.

“We’ll have to check the one this weekend out.”

Ten hours later, Peter sat at his desk. His head resting in the crux of his arms crossed on the scattered papers and notebooks. He shifted in the chair and tried not to think about the coming week. The to-do list was somewhere in the mess under him. Every bullet point added another reason his headache was growing at an alarming rate.

One of the pages peaked out from under the curve of his elbow. The model car on it was dissected into the median and coronal planes showcasing all the guts. Why was he tinkering with it after all this time? No one would see it now. Red marks, newly etched into the paper some sleepless night would probably never leave this room let alone the top of his desk unless it was carried through the trash.

The thought of acknowledging he was finally abandoning the project left him gripping onto the papers tight in his palms. Even all these months later, Peter found himself tweaking their project and trying to improve upon it. Lee, the head intern, had said she was always available. Maybe he could email it over and then she could send it onto whoever her boss was? The chain of command wasn’t something he was entirely familiar with but eventually it had to land in his hands.

His phone buzzed.

Out of habit, Peter flipped it upside-down without looking to see who it was from. He tapped his finger against the wood until the sound stopped. He only just managed to sigh when the buzzing started again.

Phone calls were the worst. He hated answering the phone, hated talking over people and not seeing their facial expressions, and hated how goodbyes were always awkward. Above all he hated the way he could never talk in a coherent manner. Always felt like he was overstepping or worse in some people’s eyes, being too quiet.

Phone calls from anyone besides May were trouble. His aunt was in the living room so that meant it was bad. He could be expelled from Midtown or one of his friends could be hurt. Ned’s hands bloody. Julia’s heart stopping. Flash’s chest not rising anymore. Peter’s chest throbbed at the images. With sweaty hands he grabbed his phone off the desk and looked at the ID.

It was from an unknown number.

His thumb hovered over the green button as it rang but he didn’t answer.

If he didn’t answer it was easier to pretend nothing was wrong. The worry barely concealed by his expression was better left unfounded. He kept reading through one of his source books on mechanical engineering but the words held no meaning. His eyes kept returning to the flip phone sitting all innocent inches away from his hand.

His fingers twitched and the phone rang again.

Peter breathed in deeply before flipping it over. He read the number over again. Tried to memorize the digits quickly as if they would hold some significance the longer they were in his mind. The ringing continued and continued for what felt like forever.

His Uncle Ben came to mind. Without letting him linger for too long again, he flipped his phone open and pressed enter. The other side of the call was silent. There was no breathing or anything to indicate someone was there.

“Hello?” The crack in his voice echoed in his ears.

“Am I speaking to Peter?”

The voice was smooth - pristine in its cadence and rhythm. Unlike his own, the words were spoken with no hesitancy or irregular pitch. There never was, either. It was a voice Peter would recognize anywhere. Hearing them say his name now made him realize how much he missed them. It was a strange thought considering. How could he miss a voice so much?

He scowled. It wasn’t fair to minimize Friday to that of just their voice.

“Fr - Friday? I…How did you get this number?”

There was another pause. Peter wished he’d said something else instead of beginning with such a sharp tone. He could’ve asked how they were doing or greeted them with enthusiasm. Instead the panic from earlier manifested in more of a bark. Heat flooded from his neck up to his ears.

“I have scanned through the Stark databases and found this number on Boss’s phone.” He couldn’t help it. Peter laughed throwing a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. Friday’s silence was enough to confirm they heard but it didn’t dampen his smile.

This was Friday he was talking to. Peter couldn’t believe it and if the smile on his face was wide and almost made his cheeks hurt, he could almost forget about everything else.

“You stole my number from Mr. Stark’s phone?”

“Peter, as I said I scanned...”

“You did! Friday, I can’t believe it. Wait, is everything okay? Did something happen? Is … Mr. Sta- everyone’s okay, right? I mean you don’t have to tell me anything but is everyone…”

“Everyone’s fine. I’m sorry to have made you worry. I would also like to apologize for keeping silent. I called you friend once but haven’t acted in accordance to what constitutes that bond.”

Peter’s neck burned. Friday’s voice sounded as hesitant as Peter felt and he was glad, for once, he wasn’t in the Tower so they couldn’t hear his heartbeat pounding in his chest.

“No need to apologize. I just assumed when I left…”

“That has no bearing on it. There were other factors. Some I can talk about some I can’t.”

“Is, is this why you called? What can you talk about?”

Peter imagined Friday was taking a large breath in from the gap between answer and question. His heart, already beating far too fast for a regular school night, increased its speed.

“You need to come back to the Tower, Peter.”

His ears filled with cotton inducing a fuzzy ringing. It grew louder and louder until he found himself leaning his forehead against the desk. The phone rested where it fell on the table by his clenched hand. He scooped it up despite the trembling in his digits and brought the phone to his ear again.

“Friday?” He rasped out.

“You need to come back to the Tower. There are matters here that would… benefit from your presence.”

There were too many pauses in the sentence and a million phrases flowing through his mind in response. Following on his immediate responses were a plethora of images of the Tower. He conjured filled hospital beds, condemned signs, and most haunting, empty rooms. The worry gnawed at his stomach not caring about Friday’s reassurances. Something had to be wrong. Why else would Friday contact him? It had been months.

There was nothing more he wanted, but all he managed to say was, “I can’t.”

The pain it would bring was all too easy to think about. He’d had a taste of it at the finale internship presentations. The sheer amount of people buzzing with excitement was enough to dull the awkward hurt but Peter couldn’t forget how hard it was to breath once he was in the Tower again. The familiarity burned at his throat. What was a safe haven reduced to just some place he used to know had hurt more than he was willing to say out loud.

Friday wanted him to go back there after everything. No awards or parties would be there to distract. He would have to walk down the hallways and see the beautiful skyline only glimpsed at that height. He would have to see Mr. Stark.

What would he say? What would he do?

“I can’t work on the project anymore, Peter.”

It was devastating in its simplicity. A twist of the metaphorical knife Peter had never even felt embedded in his side. It was a rope taken away as his head sunk swiftly under water. All the progress he’d made even if he didn’t realize it, was gone in the moment those words were said.

Mr. Stark was clear. Final.

At the time there were a thousand words he’d wanted to say but then and now it didn’t seem right. Now, the sense of betrayal no longer stung because it didn’t matter that Mr. Stark knew all about the Weaver and Oscorp. In the end, no amount of explaining or conversation would fix anything because there was nothing to fix.

The steps he took through the door were some of the hardest in his life. His surreptitious glance back resulted in seeing Mr. Stark bowed and facing away from him. The frightened look crossing over his face before hardly seemed to matter in the face of those words. It told Peter all he needed to know. Peter wasn’t wanted. Who wanted to look after a confused teenager? His time there was over.

Or so, he thought.

Months and months passed and now Friday was on the other end like nothing happened. Was there an option besides declining?

He would have thought Friday didn’t know what happened but that was impossible. They knew basically everything that happened in the Tower. It could be some misplaced urge to help Peter. It didn’t make sense. Despite their reassurances, he couldn’t help but worry something was the matter and despite his caution, Peter was curious.

Still, he repeated the two words again. They sounded more like a plea than a decision.

“What you are saying is you won’t not that you can’t. I know you only have one job and the owner has already given permission. I’m asking with sincerity. I need your help…. We need your help.”

Peter took his time to exhale. He stared at the phone in his hands, tracing Friday’s number with his eyes.

He thought of all the reasons not to go back. But the latest realization barged forward. It was with surprising ease that Peter thought about all the help Mr. Stark had thrown his way. All of the encouragement and kindness he showed without Peter even understanding what was happening.

The question wasn’t if he wanted to go back. He would always want to go back. The Tower in a way had grown to be his home. A safe space he never felt drained from after being there. No one expected anything more than Peter could give and the peace of working there, flexing his mind and being with people who understood him was intoxicating.

He could admit to himself he wanted to say yes without thinking despite every reason to say no. He had to be cautious about this, he decided. Peter had to make sure he wouldn’t get hurt like before. That no one would get hurt.

“Friday, you have to tell me what’s wrong.”

Only when he knew could Peter go back. Only then would Peter step foot in the Tower again.

Enjoy!

Next Chapter Twenty:

#peter parker #irondad #peter parker fanfic #irondad fanfic #ao3 #Shy Peter #the supplejack

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elizabeth-234 · 3 years

Text

The Supplejack

Previous Chapter Seventeen: Reflections and Realizations

Enjoy!

Chapter Eighteen: Existing

“We come to you live, this morning, from the new Oscorp building here in New York City. Joining us now is the man himself. Would you like to say a few words, Mr. Osborn? Why a new building? What’s its purpose?”

Mr. Osborn walked toward the camera, blocking the news anchor from frame. He smiled without blinking; seemed gaze straight into the viewers’ eyes while gathering his thoughts. Peter couldn’t help but shiver.

“Oscorp is at an exciting stage of expansion. Our new projects, headed by some very talented young people, deserved more space and more funding. When you think of brilliance I want you to think Oscorp. You will think of the brilliant future. And you will think of power. This building is just one of the first stages of that future.”

Mr. Osborn’s lips curled into another smile. The news anchor cleared their throat and, after holding the smile for a second longer, Mr. Osborn stepped back. They shook hands before moving onto the next segment.

The whole interview was over in less than five minutes. It was completely normal but still it was … unsettling. There was something in the way Osborn said the word power. The slight pause, no longer than a breath but holding a weighted touch, before saying the word slow and strong. Power was what he wanted. It didn’t matter the cost to a man like that. Something as insignificant as stealing a child’s idea or intimidating those around you. All for the sake of a ‘brilliant future,’ for the sake of power. What other acts had the man done in name of those ideals? What was he willing to do next?

Peter’s spine was stiff. Tension coiled in his muscles keeping him still. Anger surged in him for a moment. The back of his throat itched and all he wanted to do was throw the phone at the nearest wall. Instead, he took a breath, pulled the headphone from his ear, and handed Flash’s phone back to him.

He couldn’t do anything. The sentiment earlier had been a lifeline, a fact. Now, he was starting to hate it.

“If you would just listen to us, Peter.” Flash said.

“I thought I said no.”

“You said it months ago but we all thought that, if we gave you space-”

“Which we did.” Julia interrupted.

“-that you would come back to the logical choice. It’s called copyright laws… or something like that.” Julia crossed her arms in front of her chest as she stared at Flash. A hint of amusement hidden under the exasperation. “Well, I’m pretty sure that’s not the legal word for it but he’s got the right idea.”

Peter shrugged. His fingers played with the napkin in front of him, folding and unfolding it while Flash and Julia bickered over what they wanted. It made something warm in his chest to know that still, after all this time, his friends were trying to help.

He watched as Flash scooted closer to Julia as she began pouring over their notes. Their foreheads were almost touching, though their voices were loud enough for the table behind them to hear.

The napkin ripped at the edges. He balled it up and stuffed it under his thigh. They were friends. His friends. Two years ago, it would’ve seemed like an impossibility to be sitting here across from these two people.

Julia was writing something down, fast and neat like always. Her eyes are almost crossed with how hard she’s concentrating. Flash sat next to her. Although he was leaning away, his lips are thinned in concentration and he kept asking questions to her, clarifying and adding ideas to their ever-growing notes.

These two people, one a former bully, and the other a stranger only a few months ago were his friends. A strong support system. He could remember the tears of Flash’s face on that stairwell, the way he had screamed at Peter, antagonizing him every step of the way, when he was also in pain. It seemed like he had so many friends; was popular at Midtown. But Peter realized they were similar in some ways. Whereas Peter was alone in his pain, Flash was surrounded. He was mean and hurtful to gain their conditional acceptance. Peter can only imagine how isolating that would be both from the others and yourself. Now here Flash was, working outside school to help Peter.

Julia’s friendship was no less surprising, yet sweeter all the same. Her hesitant, introverted nature at the beginning was all to similar to how he felt. She was withheld but never curt. Her eagerness endeared her to their whole team in a short time. Julia was also more than that. She didn’t need to overcome any of those traits to be a strong person like Peter thought. Like what people always told Peter. (Smile more, speak louder, be more) Those words followed him around until they didn’t hurt anymore.

Julia surely faced similar sentiments but it felt like she never took them to heart. Instead, she used them to her strengths. Their team was silently bolstered by her calm confidence. The tense atmosphere between Frank and Monica turned into nothing more than a minor blip in their project because Julia talked to both of them, encouraged them and worked to appease both with compromise.

It was the quiet moments with Julia. The snacks she brought with her to share, the sincere way she communicated, and above all just the effervescent care for everyone around her.

Here they were sitting across from him, trying to convince him to fight for himself. How could they want to help him after everything? This wasn’t even the first plan they had come up with, just the most recent. Every time he could see this gleam in their eyes, hesitant but stubborn. Every time he shot them down the hesitation receded but the stubbornness grew.

Peter sighed and wondered if his eyes were as weighed down as he felt.

“Look, it just doesn’t matter.”

It’s dangerous.

Mr. Stark said that.

The gleam in Mr. Osborn’s eyes only held the promise of that.

For a moment, Peter allowed himself to think of the Tower. What would Friday or Mr. Stark do? How would they proceed? The team of lawyers on call would certainly help. He would like to think that there would be indignation and vitriol. He wanted to hear their words of comfort.

And if that wasn’t just the most ungrateful thought he’d ever had.

Peter clenched his hands.

None of it mattered. Why didn’t they understand? He didn’t want anyone to get hurt. He, the rabbit’s cries echoed in his mind, had to prevent anything from happening. If that meant not getting involved then that’s what he would insist on. Peter was serious but none of his friends understood.

Their reunions happened about once a month, schedules permitting. Frank couldn’t make most of them, though Zoom had turned into a life saver. Monica was as busy as ever but her time management skills allowed for her presence more often. This week it was just their trio.

The two of them continued to talk. Peter pulled the napkin from under his thigh and resumed folding it along the frayed lines. Their words floated over him and he was almost tempted to leave instead of bearing their disappointed faces.

This meeting started off nice, normal. Flash ordered a flat white while Julia got an iced black coffee. Peter, who still had nightmares about Cindy, ordered tea. Monica didn’t answer their call so they settled in the corner and began talking about school and some new exhibit at the Hive.

It was quiet but normal. Peter appreciated them.

He assumed they would leave it alone until Flash took out the notebook. Peter balled napkin up and threw it into his empty cup. A brief flare of some ugly bitterness bubbled up into his throat.

“So, are you dating now?”

He wanted to take it back the moment he said it – the way he said it. They stared at him with mimicked wide-eyed and jaw dropped expressions. Their eyes darted from him to the side at each other. Flash scooted away from Julia, Peter noticed.

Why had he said anything?

“Peter!” Julia said, leaning forward over the table.

“I’m, I’m sorry! I just… I didn’t mean… Of course, it’s okay if you are or aren’t and I shouldn’t have pried into your business. It was rude and I’m…”  

“Sorry, we know.” Flash said in a curt tone. He sighed. “It’s okay, though. You’re our friend, right?”

Peter nodded. His frustration gone with the hastily spoken words. All he wanted to do was direct the attention off of himself; to talk about something normal for once. Maybe subconsciously all he wanted to do was make someone else as uncomfortable as he was. The thought made the back of his throat itch. May would be disappointed.

“It’s really none of my business.” He said again noticing how Julia couldn’t bring herself to look up from their notes.

“It’s okay, we just haven’t talked about it yet.”

Peter nodded, watching the way his friends’ eyes met for a moment. How they lingered and Flash, moved back to his original spot in subtle, slow movements.

Peter saw those looks or something similar on people in the older grades. The slight gleam someone can light in another person’s eye. He can’t remember if his parents had it but he knows that May and Ben each held a sparkle for the other. A precious feeling, Ben told him.

He’d never thought about dating before. The small interactions with other people in his life were enough of a worry that adding love into the mixture seemed like a bad combination. It never really occurred to him he wasn’t experiencing things like the others around him. Mike and Midge had talked about their crushes before, Ned had too at one point, and Peter just listened.

Flash broke the silence that followed.

“Monica and Estee are official though. Monica said that’s one of the reasons she’s not here today. Estee’s visiting her campus.”

“That’s just lovely.” Julia said while Peter nodded.

Contrary their tension filled meeting, Monica and Estee had connected instantly. The way they leaned into each other at the beach spoke at how close they were.

One positive thing came of that day, Peter thought. One good memory that Estee and Monica, really their whole group could hang onto.

The rest of their lunch was filled with lighter subjects. Peter continued to reprimand himself, and ignore the flush to his cheeks, but the stories of baby Al and his newfound love for Julia left smiles on everyone’s faces.

“He’s a mini-me, I swear; likes to tinker away with all of my stuff. It’s annoying sometimes but then he stares at me with those baby eyes and I can’t say no.”

The subway hummed around him but the voices of the other passengers were muffled by his earbuds. He pulled his sleeves down over his hands, rolling the fabric between his fingers.

Despite his various refusals, his friends hadn’t stopped digging into the Oscorp incident. Over the course of the summer, their attempts had become more complex. They couldn’t forget, they said. And in contrast to what Peter kept saying, he couldn’t forget either.

Months of work, hypothesizing and testing mixtures and compounds only to redo everything once again. All to make sure the formula worked. It wasn’t perfect, he wasn’t finished with it, but all his papers sat at the back of his desk, waiting to be finished; to be tweaked into something better.

The Oscorp incident left too many questions that barred the way to finishing it. Made his tongue go sour when he thought of picking up the notes again.

The question was how did Seymour and Mr. Osborn get the formula? His notes from home were mostly hand written, the only other copies were the rough drafts he sent over to Julia and the ones on file at Stark Tower.

The first question was why take The Weaver in the first place? He was too young to be notable to anyone of worth and the actual application of it was not in line with what Oscorp worked with till present. What were they going to use it for? He could think of a handful of the other interns’ projects that would work better.

The next question was what they did to the formula. Objectively, he was impressed with how far they got with it, Peter couldn’t suppress a shudder as he thought of the rabbit. Something was wrong with their formula. He didn’t know if it was because they were trying to find Peter’s original one or if they were trying to change it.

It’s dangerous, Mr. Stark said.

Mr. Stark was the last question on Peter’s mind. A pressure pushed into his chest but he made himself think it through.

Somehow, Mr. Stark knew about what they were doing. The man’s actions that day were so out of character that at first Peter hadn’t even considered it a possibility. But with those words it was clear the man was aware of what happened and had done nothing to prevent it.

Peter wanted, no needed, to believe there must be a good reason. Maybe it was one Peter didn’t know about, wasn’t privy too and might never be filled in on. He could live with that possibility. Mr. Stark never did anything without a reason and, contrary to what people believed, those reasons normally were with the consideration of everyone besides the man himself. Every one of their interactions spoke of that careful kindness, one that was shielded from an outside view if you didn’t want to look deeper. It was there in everything besides their parting and all Peter could hypothesize was that Mr. Stark was scared.

Iron Man, the great and legendary man himself, was scared and for now Peter needed to follow his lead. The hairs on the back of his neck straightened on end. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a great tower, looking down at the monolithic fall below him.

The man was scared of something to do with Oscorp and if not and it was all an act, then Peter fell for it too. He wasn’t sure what he would do then.

Too many people had come in and back out of his life. Mr. Stark was just the most recent on the list no matter the cause.

Peter suddenly wished The Weaver worked on whatever was tearing his chest into pieces. But no matter how much he twisted and tested the formula there was no possible way it could cure the wounds of the heart and mind.

The subway continued on and with a practiced ease, Peter pretended it was six months ago and his only worry were Friday’s updates and if he should sit at lunch with Ned.

Chapter Nineteen: A Phone Call

#peter parker #tony stark #spiderman fic #fanfic #ao3 #the supplejack

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elizabeth-234 · 3 years

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The Supplejack

Summary: Peter Parker has been alone his whole freshman year but finds hope when Stark Industries announces a science competition. The prize? An internship with Tony Stark.

AO3

Fanfiction

Chapters: One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven - Eight - Nine - Ten - Eleven - Twelve - Thirteen - Fourteen - Fifteen - Sixteen - Seventeen -

#irondad #spiderson #fanfiction

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elizabeth-234 · 3 years

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The Supplejack

Previous Chapter Sixteen: Civil War

Summary so far from previous chapter: Here's a summary of the previous chapter: Peter goes to upstate New York with his team plus Flash and Ned. They all have fun with some heart to heart conversations about the disaster that was the end of their project because of the trip to Oscorp. It's summer with two weeks back to school. Peter reflects on what happened with Mr. Stark with much angst and sadness. He's also working himself too hard with two jobs, one at a coffee shop and the other at a radio supply store called Barry's. It is there that Peter finds himself watching the news as Civil War happens. Close footage of the event is released and the world watches as two superheroes battle it out. Peter stumbles home and calls Mr. Stark to make sure he's okay only to get a voicemail. He doesn't leave a message.

Chapter Seventeen: Reflection and Realizations

Peter always felt at odds with the world. From his youth – the time waking up alone in the hospital and going through middle school with laughter following at his back – left the impression of permanent displacement. The uncomfortable foreignness he sometimes felt inside his own skin was nothing new. Peter’s preference for a quiet room over something loud was strange to people. Sam Carlson called him a freak and at the time Peter cried. When no one stood up for him he believed it was true. What else would explain the differences between him and everyone else?

At home, his family knew and loved his differences. Ben wore his varsity jacket with pride. Peter would run up to him and beg to wear it, loving how the plush leather draped around his shoulders. Hoping one day he could wear his own like Ben. Peter could remember Ben’s excited ramblings. All the plans he made for Peter - with Peter. When he fell short of those dreams, Ben still loved him.

Ben took him to ice cream outings after spelling bees and pushing Peter to believe in himself no matter what. He showed Peter that sometimes, with special people, those differences weren’t considered bad but unique. Like his quirks were interesting instead of outlandish.

With the anniversary of Ben’s death approaching at the end of the week and now Germany, the differences felt like too much. His skin itched. He wanted to destroy his phone and hide under the blankets in his room. He also wanted to plop himself down in front of five monitors and make sure he didn’t miss anything.

It was a week since Germany. Seven days of news stations repeating words and phrases over and over again. Their pantomime words were pointless and flat but Peter couldn’t do anything but watch them. He had to make sure there wasn’t a speck of information missed. What if new injuries came to light? What if, after the bloody fight there was more violence and fear? The smallest word could incite the people of New York and the world to shift to a strange unease. To look at their heroes as lesser because of an in-house fight. Would they be wrong do so? So, hours of the tv he watched.

Today, though was different. He climbed out of bed to drag himself to the couch in their living room. It was still pushed to the side of the wall so May could roll her yoga mat out in the middle of the room so he had to sit at the end and crane his neck to see.

Peter yawned and stretched his back before turning on the tv. Both hope and dread tangled in his stomach as he waited to see if anything new happened while he was asleep. The first thing he noticed was the absence of colors. There was no red and gold; no red, white, and blue either. Instead a story played about a new workout fad on the morning show. Both hosts tried to squat in heels and a tight suit and all Peter could do was watch in disbelief.

He moved to the edge of the couch, digging his hands into the sides of the cushions. Peter switched the channels back and forth but … there was nothing. Not a single story on the Avengers.

The day passed in a blur after that. Peter sat in the back of Barry’s listening to the radio as he worked. The Yaesu FT – 891 sat exposed in front of him on the table. Gears and widgets crowded the small paneling of the front.

Still no word about it on the radio. Iron Man, Captain America, The Avengers. Nothing.

It was incomprehensible. How had the world already moved on? The arguably largest powers of the world clashed in epic proportions and a week later no one cared. Everyone else was getting back to normal.

Peter’s whole world had changed. Maybe in minuscule terms but at a fundamental level. If this was what it meant to be at odds with the world then maybe it was a good thing. If he could remember, keep those relentless attacks and trembling fists in mind, then maybe it was worth it.

Before their upstate getaway. Peter scowled at the news. He hated how these strangers gossiped and mongered any information they had about Mr. Stark. Chest heaving from running. Peter watched from the side of the street as Iron Man was on the tv. Mr. Stark wearing his superhero persona complete with the large glasses and faux smile. When the woman who walked up beside him asked him who the man really was he was blindsided. Who else would he be besides Iron Man?

Peter didn’t understand at the time.

It was when he saw Mr. Stark, when Iron Man had fallen to the ground. Blood stained the red metal dripping onto the concrete underneath him. Peter realized he was as bad as the people in the hallway of the Tower like the man who spilled coffee on himself as their boss walked by all those months ago. He was the one staring at the man from behind glass – through a pair of Mr. Stark’s rose tinted glasses.

All those months he’d spent in knots because “it was Iron Man, after all.” Isn’t that what he thought before his presentation? All those dinners and movie nights with the man and Peter never viewed him as a person.

He was Iron Man.

But he was also Tony Stark.

Peter had never crossed that bridge or made the connection until now. His stomach churned at how long he’d willfully been ignorant.

Mr. Stark was a real human being made of flesh and blood. Not someone who didn’t care if their ‘past indiscretions’ were picked apart on the regular. Not a figurehead of a huge company or a symbol to the people. He was arrogant and flawed and … a kind person.

He was someone who fed Peter his favorite orders and watched boring school movies with him. He worried that Peter would get home safely ever time. He reached out to Peter, lifted him up, and all those months he worked with Peter. Mentored him as softly as he could when Peter was in no state to receive help.

It was like his eyes were opening after a long sleep.

When Ben passed it tore something out of Peter. He closed himself off from people. The hurt of him leaving left a bitter knot in Peter. One he never wanted to feel again. A hurt he would do anything to make sure he didn’t feel it again. The pain in his chest, squeezing and weighing heavy until he couldn’t breathe followed him for months

In the anguish, the solution became about connection. It was his connection that hurt, their love that was leaving this pain in Peter long after Ben was gone. If it wasn’t for that, maybe he wouldn’t be hurting as much. If, Peter had kept a distance, maybe Ben would still be alive. So, he turned his life was on autopilot. Didn’t allow himself to get attached to anyone and he was alone. He was getting by. It was all the better for it, he told himself.

Then the S.T.A.R.K. posters took over Midtown and something changed. A small spark ignited, just barely smoldering, but aflame all the same. Peter wanted to participate. He wanted to win. For the first time in a long time, he battled his insecurities and wrote his name on the paper outside the school office. Fingers trembled against the concrete wall but looking back on it now, it was the first step to reaching out and making a new connection, though at the time he didn’t see it that way.

His back still hurt from the hours spent hunched over at his desk scribbling in notebooks and testing materials. The knot in his stomach urged him to find a better solution. The recipe needed tweaking and the equation needed changing to make it the best. If he could find the right formula then maybe he could help someone. Maybe, the words taunted him, he could’ve saved Ben.

It was a lifeline just out of his reach. Peter struggled and grappled to grab hold and pull himself up even after hearing Ms. Potts and Mr. Stark spoke about him as he hid behind the plants. Not after the tour and the internship began could he breath again.

Not until the lab. The quiet moments in lab two were like the first relief of that pressure. The first quiet after the storm. Working next to Mr. Stark he found the ability to breathe again. Just for a few hours he could be present in himself, not feel the uncomfortable itch of being in his own skin, and just be. Only now did he realize he was sitting in the eye of the storm while the winds raged around him, waiting to move away and sink him into their tempest clouds.

Mr. Stark made effort after effort to reach him. He asked about May and with genuine interest asked about school and life. Peter’s face turned hot as he remembered the glass of water and medicine waiting for him on the nightstand when he insisted on going to the tower when he was ill.

Why hadn’t he realized before?

Maybe it was because of Ben and his parents. Maybe Peter was scared to lose someone again. He didn’t want to ever put on a black, ill-fitting suit and hear the flat, kind words that never really captured what was special about a person again.

The man tried to show him but Peter wasn’t in a place to receive.

And that made the ache in his chest throb all the more.

There was nothing more he wished than to be thrown that rope again but it was gone now, pulled back to the safety of the boat while Peter was just now realizing he was lost at sea.

The why wasn’t important. It didn’t matter what Mr. Stark was getting out of it. It didn’t matter why he picked Peter or that he used him in whatever was happening with Oscorp. All of that stung but it didn’t negate the real moments when Mr. Stark became someone he could look up to. Someone he could look to for help.

What mattered was he showed Peter who he was underneath the larger than life image. Mr. Stark was a man who hadn’t noticed the view from his obnoxiously large tower until Peter pointed it out. He was the one who burned frozen pizza but new how to build rockets and whatever else his imagination dreamed up.

He had faults but he was trying.

Mr. Stark was a man Peter would never know further.

Again, his world changed without really changing at all. The subtle self-awareness became sharper and he could see, could finally admit what he wanted.

He wanted to visit with Julia and collaborate again, study together like friends. He wanted to hang out with Ned and Flash and just laugh without feeling so damn guilty. Peter wanted to go back to the Tower and spend his afternoons working on projects. Watch movies and make frozen pizza, not burned preferably. He thought of his promise to May, the feel of her arms impossibly strong around him and their words whispered together. He had thought he’d meant it when he said he would try for himself and her.

Now, though, he knew it was more of a child’s promise. Something said without much thought to how to progress.

“I want you to start taking care of yourself and loving yourself. I know it’s not easy and it downright sucks most of the time but can you try to do that?” May had said.

Had he tried? Did he make any progress this summer?

At first, he worked himself to the bone. Tired from waking up and going to bed from school, Barry’s, and The Bitter End. There was purposefully no room to think and reflect, which was how Peter wanted it. While self-reflection was one of his strong suits, it was also a downfall. He would get trapped in these endless cycles of overthinking and doubting himself.

But it wasn’t sustainable. He was only one, arguably asocial, individual. It was too much at all hours of the day. His time at The Bitter End came to just that with loud shouting from Cindy and a year ban from the store. Peter wasn’t sure if the latter was a joke or not.

Working one job with school so far was working. Barry was a low maintenance boss and if he stayed on top of homework, school wasn’t too bad. Still, he missed going to the Tower after school. Working collaboratively with his team and spending time there after.

Peter sighed, rubbing his chest absentmindedly before shutting the radio off and leaning back in his chair.

How could the world move on so quick? How, after everything the Avengers did for them, could they just talk about workouts and other mundane things?

He took his cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. His thumb hovered over the enter button as he watched the blinking light highlight Mr. Stark’s number.

“Damn.” He said under his breath and closed the phone again. After that last time, he didn’t have the courage to call the number again or leave a voicemail.

Peter sank forward. His head rested into the curve of his elbows on the desk as he thought of what he should do next.

Despite his adversity to it, change came into his life whether he wanted it or not. Uncaring at the best of times and brutal at the worst.

Ned stood beside him and a glazed over Flash to the other side. The former was rambling on about a last-minute vacation he took with his parents to Toronto, while the latter didn’t even attempt to be impressed.

“- and there’s this little town where they perform all these plays every year. We saw A Midsummer Night's Dream and boy was that way hornier than I thought.”  

“Well, if that isn’t fascinating but some of us have to get to class.” 

“Don’t act all high and mighty, Flash. We’re in the same first period as you, dude.” Ned winked at Peter.

Flash was still Flash but he’d become less rough as time wore on. Ned seemed to have that effect on people, Julia too. Flash would gripe and grumble but to Peter, he seemed happier now than their freshman year. He wondered if maybe Flash had wanted a fresh start in high school as much as him. Peter grinned at him and rolled his eyes in good nature with Flash as Ned continued giving them a rundown of the play.

He looked around at the other students comparing schedules and groaning over their new teachers. A group of short students walked by them. Peter froze at their height difference. Was he that short last year? It felt weird but good to see how much he’d grown. They were no longer the small fish on campus. He grinned.

Peter followed Flash and Ned to their English first period. As luck, or not, would have it Mrs. Brzozowski was teaching their class again. Her scowl spoke volumes for how she felt about her schedule change.

He groaned along with the rest of the class when they received their assigned seating. Setting his backpack under his seat, Peter took a seat by the window and managed not to gloat at the good spot. Middle back and next to the window. Plenty of fodder for daydreams, though he suspects their novels will keep him engaged through the year. He missed Austen but was excited to read some American Literature this year.

By the time he made it home, Peter’s head was pounding. Lunch was thankfully quiet because he managed to find a spot in the library. Ned visited him before he was off to greet Midge and everyone. Peter sat in relative silence thinking over his peanut butter and jelly made from the heels of the bread (he’d have to get some more after work) about the school year ahead and the one he left behind last June. All the while he resisted the urge to look at his phone notifications.

Peter knew that he wouldn’t find anything there.

Tomorrow he could go and eat with everyone, Peter decided. By then the first day jitters would subside, at least a bit, and it would be nice to see Midge and Jaimik again. Not so much to hear about Mike’s latest antics.

As was his routine after work and homework, Peter climbed into bed adjusting his t-shirt from clinging to his back and curled up under the covers. After much tossing and turning and entirely too much thinking, he fell asleep.

Peter woke in a sweat clawing at his chest. The sweat soaked his shirt making it damp to the touch. His chest heaved from the great pressure threatening to explode out. His hands trembled and he threw them in front of him. There was no blood. He wasn’t bleeding. He wasn’t the rabbit or being torn apart as his subconscious wanted him to believe.

Peter couldn’t stop the ragged breathes. He tried to concentrate on his heart but it burned in his chest, the raging rhythm seemed to take over his body, pulsing in his head and stomach. Blindly, Peter reached out and pulled the notebook from the crevice of his bed and wall.

Sometimes he would read through them but today he hugged them close to his chest. His fingers traced the indents and now fraying page ends until he could finally breath deep and steady.

It was only then in the still and dusk of not quite morning that Peter realized he was crying.

Thank you for reading.

Next Chapter Eighteen: Existing

#spiderman #peter parker #iron man #tony stark #supplejack #avengers fic #fanfiction #irondad #iron dad #spiderson #pre powers #angst

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elizabeth-234 · 3 years

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The Creature from the Blue Lagoon

Previous Chapter two: Best Stay Away from the Waters

Chapter Three: Legends of Old

Penny had few memories of her childhood. Blurry, faded images of two people and faint traces of warm hands came to her sometimes when she was on the verge of sleep. The images were never concrete and were accompanied by the stinging realization that no matter what she wished, she would always be by herself. Being alone was a part of her. She’d come to stand the cold nights huddled in bed and empty kitchen tables, but loneliness was something new. Not until she found him.

Her heart ached during hours spent watching over the mermaid with nothing but her fears. His faded scales and bleeding wound doing nothing to alleviate the gnawing dread worming its way inside her. Her tears were stilted at first under the sun but once night descended and the water turned colder, they flowed freely into the marsh surrounding them.

Two days with no sign of change. Nothing, not even a twitch, besides a heartbeat and steady flow of blood out of the wound despite her best efforts to heal it. She worried her medicines wouldn’t work on his anatomy. Maybe she hadn’t packed the wound right, or maybe his heartbeat was working too fast. Her hands needed to keep busy so Penny studied his armor. There was a gash through it leaving a vulnerable spot and in between her attempts at healing and pitying herself, Penny began carving a a slab of wood to fit into the hole.

Penny was whittling when, without warning, his eyes opened. It sent her reeling back onto her haunches. He stretched in slow measured movements, feeling his muscles flex after being stagnant for so long. He pulled to the left with a particular quickness and winces. She could see his tail twitch against the water.

“No!” She cried out without thinking. Her hand flew to her mouth and he bared his teeth, too sharp to even be considered human, at her. His tail rose higher, slapping the base on the water. Against her will, Penny realized what the villagers might have seen and hated that she flinched away; hated that once again her first instinct was to hide. Recognition lit his eyes and as slowly as he could, his expression neutralized. He lifted his hands up in a placating manner.

She shook off her fright knowing how ridiculous it was. Her eyes wandered down to the packed materials in the wound. The bandages were holding up for now, but she would need to change them.

“I’m so - don’t move too much. You’re hurt.” Penny stepped forward, first to scoop up her meager supplies and closer to him. She laid the bag on the ground, careful to keep her eyes on his. His tail muscles flexed as it slid down. Waves rippled out from the appendage gliding into the water until he was the height of an adult human. He was still taller than her but now the difference was a bit more manageable.

Her hands trembled as she presented the materials and herbs. He sniffed it and nodded. It was a relief how unafraid she was so soon. As she worked, peeled off the soaked material and began packing it with new, she couldn’t help but peak up at him and think. Though he was taller now, he wasn’t nearly the height of before, when he was extended up on his tail. The mere breadth of his shoulders was enough to intimidate any man but she found that all there was room for was worry. The suddenness of everything had pricked at her emotions but she knew, from all their meetings and last battle together, he wouldn’t hurt her.

A flinch ran down his side at a poke to the sore area. His hands clenched at his side as she hurried to finish.

“I’m so sorry.” She murmured over and over. “I tried to do this the best I could but I… I only know what I’ve taught myself.”

He raised his hand to wave her off.

“This is more than I expected.” He said. She bit her lip and began putting her things away.

“Couldn’t you, you know, heal yourself like before?” His hand cupped his wound. He frowned at the question.

“It is not up to me who the waters will heal.”

And if that didn’t raise a thousand questions in her head. Penny watched as he descended further into the water. The waves lapped over his chest and she couldn’t stop her hand from shooting up. She couldn’t stop the thrumming in her chest at the thought of an empty marsh.

“Don’t go!” She cried out. “I have so many questions that is and you’re not healed enough yet.”

“Fear not, young one. My limits are aware to me and it’s not time for me to depart yet.” The pause following was filled with Penny trying not to cover her face and the mermaid staring at her failed attempt. “What were you working on before I awoke?”

Grateful for the distraction, Penny looked over to the armor and her carving settled into the reeds. The wood was solid and smooth in her hands and, careful to be respectful of his armor, she made a show of slotting it in the torn hole. The wood secured itself flushed to the armor and she placed it into his waiting hands.

He raised it up, inspecting the now one piece before running his hand along it.

“I know it won’t be as sturdy as before but… until it can be truly fixed.”

“This is good. When I’m healed I will be honored to wear it.” The mermaid bent at the waist. His hand fisted across his chest. “Thank you-”

“It’s Penny. Penelope.” She hurried to say.

“And you may call me, Tony.” He grinned at her giggle. His sharp teeth only making the expression stranger. “My true name cannot be pronounced in your tongue and I thought it was a stately name. Was I mistaken?”

Penny’s not sure how to respond and after a moment they both laugh together.

She thought back to how her days were structured before. The long hours surviving; the longer ones alone. It was an aimless wander, or stumble she thought, with no direction to take her. Penny was hated by everyone who knew her, scorned by them, and called a witch. The jeers hurt – how could they not? – but she never let herself dwell on them before. She had no reference to what it could be before. Which was why now, in the face of kindness and acceptance, all the old wounds become open and enflamed again.

Every time Tony spoke her name with warmth, all the times the villagers yelled at her cut deeper. When he caught them food or taught her to fish with her hands, she couldn’t help thinking about being turned away from venders or Flash trampling over the meager wares she was able to buy. Every conversation and question and eager attempt to know her, reminded her of how very lonely she must have been before.

It wasn’t fair, Penny thought as she laid under the stars. Tony was sleeping half out of the water. His tail, she noted, was moving in slow, constant movements in rhythm with his breathing. It wasn’t fair how easy he came into her life. His presence a safe aura she could bask in. Though his tail was a constant reminder of how different they were, how separate their lives were, Penny accepted it and instead of hating or fearing it, she loved its beauty. If only the villagers could accept her in the same way.

She shivered and curled into her homemade pallet. Maybe she didn’t want their acceptance anymore.

Penny turned an eye toward the water. The small waves lapped gently across the sand and moved the reeds in a slow rhythm. The moon reflected off of Tony’s tail casting sparkles around the marsh. A speckle of blueish tinged light glowed across her leg. For a moment, it looked like a scale, like it was a part of a tail hidden from view.

Her breath caught in her throat. Careful to not move so her leg would move out of the light, Penny ran a hand across it watching as the blue scale lit her hand and fell back to her leg. It was beautiful and uncanny. She couldn’t help but think of what life might be like if she too had a tail. What color would it be? How strong? Her stomach flipped at the image of her not sitting on the shore but swimming beside Tony. She lay back on the pallet and stared at the stars. They wouldn’t look so different from the sea.

Penny smiled to herself and light with her daydreams, closed her eyes to sleep.

Water pooled around her, running along her arms and through her hair which was long and flowing in the water. The blue encompassed her in a safety of tones. Everywhere she looked it was the same scene but somehow, she wasn’t scared. It might have been overwhelming in any other situation but the fear never came to her. With another burst of speed, she moved forward creating a trail of bubbles behind her.

Freedom. That’s what this feeling was.

For once nothing was holding her back. Not the village, not the people living there, and not herself. If she wasn’t submerged under water Penny would’ve said she could breathe easier. Her body moved without hinder and her mind, usually weighed down with responsibility and expectation, was allowed to roam. The weariness settled and aged into her bones lifted. Penny felt her age for the first time in a while.

She giggled and spun around. Sunlight glinted around her illuminating the bubbles around her and a smear of red caught her eye. How could she not notice? It was so different and lovely and …. Penny had a tail.

The color beyond beautiful and contrasted with the water around her. How could she have not noticed? Deep red scales covered her torso flowing into her hips to cover where her legs used to be. Strong fins jutted out on each hip, flowing with the water. The color remained even down through the rest of the tail, its rich color sparkling from the hints of sun streaming down from the surface.

She flexed her muscles, basking in the strength there. The water offered little resistance and parted for her with ease. It bent in front of her and before she could think otherwise, Penny reached out and ran her hand against the end of the tail. The wispy tips swayed through her fingers. The red turned darker going from a purple to cerulean blue like the tips of the tail had been dip-dyed in ink.

The strangest part of all was how right it felt. She had no urge to run or brace her legs apart, in fact she didn’t really miss her legs to begin with. With another strong flick she was speeding through the water. Laughter surged through her sending even more bubbles mixing with the ones from her swim. It was everything she never knew she needed.

Water rushed around her, through her, propelling her forward. On and on she went basking in the freedom; dipping to lower and higher depths all while looking back at her tail, making she it was still visible.

Penny laughed to herself again before it was cut off with a gasp. Large, winding ropes curled into her sides, cutting into her skin as they constricted around her. The netting squeezed her adding to the pressure, pushing her down into it further. Penny couldn’t breathe they were moving so fast. The light from above was getting brighter and she had to shut her eyes at the onslaught of water and sun. The water was almost clear now. Before she had time to take a breath she broke the surface. Sun prickled at her skin. Not hurting but creeping uncomfortably in a way that it hadn’t before.

The net swung back and forth rolling her stomach with it before moving again. Penny reached a hand through the net trying to grasp the water but it did nothing but slide through her fingers. Tears fell with every foot away she went until, without a warning, she was falling. Penny slammed into the dock. Her hands barely made it in front of her to stop the brunt of the fall. Shivers wracked her spine. She forced her eyes open though there wasn’t anything she’d rather do than keep them closed.

Her tail curled around her upper body as if to shield it. The dock rocked under her almost unheard over the jeers and taunts surrounding her. Their faces were obscure, blocked out by great shadows but her imagination, her memory, filled in for what was missing.

Their hate filled words shoot toward her, sharpened and salivating for blood. Pitchforks and harpoons joined the words, digging into her skin. She cried out as they ripped of her scales. Blood mingled with flesh staining the scales a deeper red. Her hands shook as they covered the wounds but pain kept coming.

She snarled and screamed and fought to get away but nothing helped. They surrounded her, getting closer and closer until her heart was beating so fast her mind freezed and she fell backward against the wood.

It was like every other confrontation of her life. There was no use in fighting for freedom, fighting for herself, because in the end it never mattered. She was weak and useless. No one had fought for her so why should she fight for herself?

A sob tore through her chest and Penny’s eyes flew open.

The ground was hard but warm underneath her body. Her legs prickled from being curled tight against her chest and, hoping not to stir too much movement, she looked around from her vantage point on the ground. Her spine tingled. Tony’s eyes were on her. They reflected from the light of the moon like the water he was half submerged in.

“You’re crying.” He motioned toward her face with his eyebrows furrowed. “Are you hurt?”

She swiped her hand across her cheek. Her eyes widened at the moisture there. It had been a long time since she’d woken to tears.

“N-no. I’m not hurt.” His eyes stayed trained on her. The wrinkle between his brows deepened. “I had a dream and it was…amazing.” She said thinking of the beginning. The feeling of the water hugging her. The absolute acceptance of home she’d never experienced before. Her hand strayed to her leg and she suppressed a cry when there was no scales there.

“And this made you produce the tears?”

Her chest panged.

“Ah, no. The dream turned bad.” Which was putting it lightly. He didn’t look like he believed her and there was something that held her back from explaining more.

Penny thought about the splash of red in the endless blue sea, of the way the scales sparkled, and the complete freedom she had in the water. Her eyes traveled down to Tony’s tail which was submerged and almost asked what it was like. Instead, she held her tongue and looked down.

Silence overtook them for a time. She shrugged a blanket over her shoulders and watched the water move back and forth trying to calm her racing heart.

“Tears are fascinating to us. Mami Wata, Selkie, Merrows and Mermaids. There were many names given to us through time. As humans have been fascinated with us, we too have held a similar feeling toward you. Tears are one such object of that.”

“Can you not – Do you not have the ability to?” She said quietly.

“Not the act of producing a tear in response to emotion, like you yourself have just done. We produce a substance to keep our eyesight clear and protect the eyes themselves but there is no emotion behind it.”

“Oh.” She said and balled her fingers into the blanket.

Penny hated crying. The physical weakness of it all on display for anyone who was around to see it. She couldn’t remember all the times where she had woken up with wet cheeks and an aching hurt in her chest. She hated them. But as she sat there watching Tony look out onto the waters, she realized how sad it would be to never cry. To never feel that release of all the storms inside. It was a bitter blessing to be gifted with.

Tony smiled at her expression.

“Let me tell you a story.” He said. “Our people have a legend about the first one of our kind long before the seas were made. It is said they weren’t quite human but not yet quite mermaid as well. They were alone for much of their life, aching and bitter with no ability to cry. Shunned by humans and cast out of the villages to wander alone forever. All the storms were trapped inside of them soaking the poisoned hurts into them until they thought it was too much. The humans encroached closer, burning and farming and living larger than ever before. The first one had to live on the outskirts to get any semblance of peace. All the while they wished for another to be with.

It was… difficult our legends say. Humans, for all the wonder they hold, are often tempered with anger and hurt. They made their displeasure of the first one known and it was no longer safe for them to live in the human realm. Running away was the best option and so they left in the night under the stars.

Much distance they went, under the sun and moon repeatedly until they came across a great cliff; the end of the world some say. They looked over to find emptiness. They collapsed as if the cliff stole all hope. But still they couldn’t cry though they knew the humans would catch up eventually. Not even the end of the world could provide. They were alone.

Their life continued as it was before. Their eyes always faced behind, waiting and watching for the day to come. Their prayers for companionship grew faint and hope dwindled until, on a night where the stars seemed to burn from the heavens. They were woken by a cry.”

“What – what was it?” She asked bending forward to get closer. Her heart pounded as he told the story.

“There under the stars was a child. The first one knelt down toward the infant and slowly scooped the bundle up to their chest. It was said that upon sight of the child, the first one’s storms inside rose for a moment. That all the loneliness and grief rushed through them. The child cried out and with a burst the first one responded. They ran to the cliff, kneeling at the end and stared down at the nothing there.

All the tempests inside them waged forth and tears cascaded down their cheeks. The tears fell and mingled with the child’s own tears until the sadness calmed. It is then, young one, that the miracle happened. Tears of sadness turned to tears of happiness. The first one smiled and cried for what was found, for the warmth and love they already had for the child in their arms. Through the night they cried in harmony and silence.

When the morning sun shined upon them, the first one looked out past the cliff and saw the ocean. The salty waters they created with their grief and love. It’s another gift, you see. Without looking behind them, without a thought to the horrors of their life before, they descended into the water; into the very manifestation of their love never to return to land again.”

His voice petered off and the only sound was the waves lapping on the sand. It was an unbelievable tale. Something of legend and Penny had never been much inclined to believe in the impossible. She would still be wishing for her parents to come back if that were the case. But there was something in the story that had her head reeling - her heart aching. Penny wanted it to be true, she realized. The image of a small child bringing enough love to create oceans, to heal someone’s heart was enough that she couldn’t help but wish it was true.

It hurt in a way to see a parent love their child so much. The reminder of how she had grown was bitter. In truth all she can do was mutter something under her breath and when Tony handed her a small blanket, she realized she was crying again.

“We cannot cry since the first one, but I look fondly at the act all the same. It ties us together, in a way, and despite how difficult it must be to bare your emotions. I can’t help but see our first one, loved for the first time and long for the same.”

In the face of such a statement, Penny did the only thing she could think of. Her hands trembled and her feet were shaky after sitting for so long but Penny ran forward and threw her arms around Tony. His body was stiff for a moment before he melted into her embrace.

She was warm and so happy tears began pouring from her eyes in earnest. Penny thought to the story of the child and parent. How they created a home for themselves safe and together, and in Tony’s arms, Penny can’t help but think that maybe it wasn’t just a legend. Maybe they were bound to repeat history.

Thank you!

Next chapter four:

#penny parker #peter parker #iron man #irondad #tony stark #mermaid tony stark #mermaid AU #fic #ao3 #fanfiction

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elizabeth-234 · 3 years

Text

The Creature from the Blue Lagoon

New / old fic I’ve decided to move into it’s own category because it’s turned from a one shot into multi-chaptered story!

AO3

fanfic

Chapter One: Meeting

Chapter Two: Best Stay Away from the Waters

Chapter Three: Legends of Old

#peter parker #penny parker #tony stark #mermaid tony stark #fic #spiderman fic #avengers fic #peter is female #mermaid AU #irondad #iron dad #spiderson

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elizabeth-234 · 3 years

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A Night She Won’t Soon Forget

Previous Chapter Six: A Day He Begins to Move

Hi all. Hope you are doing well. Here is the next chapter, Enjoy!

Chapter Seven: A Day She Bakes Cinnamon Rolls

Penny stood at the bottom of the stairs gazing up at the cobblestone building in front of her. The bricks constructing it, old as they looked to her young eyes, were clean and evenly spaced. They were woven into arches and patterns unfamiliar in the buildings around Midtown. With her meager belongings tucked under her arm and her feet dragging on the sidewalk, Penny felt like she was between worlds.

On the way here, she watched out the window of the car as neighborhoods and buildings morphed into designs she was unfamiliar with. People loitering on the street corners became few and far between. Instead, she spied people walking with purpose between the clean and uncrowded buildings. It was like she stepped into one of the stories the late-night radio shows talked about. Families with small children laughed and went about their day and business-minded people hurried to their workplace. A different atmosphere than what she was used to.

Penny glanced down at her hand-me-down smock and then over to Ms. Potts. Her hat rested atop her head in some mysterious way not visible from the outside, revealing a bouquet of curls. The brilliant purple color matched that of her coat, gloves, and shoes. Penny swallowed. Her hands twined her smock in endless knots until Ms. Potts bent toward her. The woman’s smooth gloved reached out and unbearably gentle, she pried Penny’s nervous fingers apart.

“Are you alright, dear?” 

Penny nodded sending her chopped hair every which direction despite the butterflies cramping in her stomach. She could see the woman’s gaze follow her hair for a moment before landing on her ears and nose. The frown that settled on her face was foreign to Penny. There was a certain detachment in her wrinkled brow. An anger Penny was almost sure wasn’t directed at her in the way the corners of her mouth turned down. Still, she couldn’t help but flinch back when Ms. Potts’s hand brushed her hair back from where it had fallen on her forehead.

“We’ll need to get you some warmer clothes, Penny. Your poor ears are bright as an apple.”

She wanted to lean into the soft touch of her warm, leather gloves. If only for a moment she could enjoy the feeling but her earlier outburst lingered at the front of her mind. The tears she shed so easily when before she was convinced they were permanently dry. Heat burned in her cheeks not entirely due to the cold. To think that someone like Ms. Potts, someone so warm and kind, witnessed her breakdown. So instead of basking in the affection like she wanted, Penny ducked her head and pulled her sleeves down over her hands, clutching the book under her arm.

The buildings loomed overhead. The possibilities waiting. Penny shivered.

“I’m alright, Ma’am. It’s not too cold.”

Ms. Potts’s shook her head as her hand dropped.

“Pepper or Ms. Potts please, Penny. And there will be no arguments from you. I want to go shopping and you will just have to humor me.” Penny remained silent but nodded in response. Ms. Potts, content enough with the nonverbal answer, gestured to the front door. “Shall we?”

Penny scrambled up the stairs after Ms. Potts. The ornate, gold knocker hung right above her head on the front door in the same shape as the crest imprinted on the papers in Mrs. Delores’s office. Her eyes traced the slanted eye slots on the helmet’s décor and she had to stop her hand from reaching out to feel the smooth edges. The door swung open. Penny held her breath and ducked her head further down as a guiding hand on her back moved them into the house.

The sleet sticking to her wrinkled shoes melted with the heat of the indoors and sunk through her socks to freeze her toes. The carpet’s red and gold tones caught her attention first. The colors twisted and weaved together in spirals and delicate paisley patterns. It was hard not to compare the intricate artistry with her leather loafers. They were another child’s before hers and probably someone else’s before that. Time soaked into the crevices of the shoes, staining the material a deep brown and wrinkling the buckle edges. They were the beginning of the reminders of her lack of place there. She couldn’t even compete with a carpet.

Penny scrambled to make sure the bottoms were clean before stepping onto it with Ms. Potts beside her. She turned in a half circle to take in the full view of the room until she heard a throat clear. Frozen on the spot, Penny took a moment to breath, hoping and knowing it was beyond hope, that no one had seen her lack of decorum.

Black patent shoes stepped into her view. Her eyes followed them to the attached body. From the chores at Midtown, ironing being one of the many, she knew how precise you had to be to achieve lines that straight in the black pants and suite jacket. She admired the clean cut of the outfit before Penny met the person’s gaze.

While Mr. Stevens, the delivery man, had a beard similar to the bristles of her trusty broom at Midtown, this gentleman, for surely with his outfit and fancy demeanor he was one, had a neatly combed mustache, shockingly bold and grey. It twitched under her stare and Penny fought the urge to giggle. His piercing, grey eyes sat under a set of similarly colored heavy eyebrows.

Ms. Potts stepped up beside her.

“Friday,” She said with a smile. “Good to see you. I have someone I want you to meet.” She placed her hand on Penner’s shoulder and brought her to her side. Penny shivered at the contact but held still. “Penny this is Friday, our magician of a Butler here at Stark House. Friday, this is Miss Penny Parker. She will be staying here with us.”

The man craned his head down at Penny. She stared at the wall behind him but offered her best smile while attempting to curtsey. Her legs wobbled and she could hear Mrs. Delores’s voice critiquing the movement. Ms. Potts laughed as she looked between her and Friday. She brushed Penny’s hair back again.

Penny peaked at the man from under her bangs. His expression hadn’t changed from her earlier observations but there was a minute softening in his eyes. She fidgeted with her sleeves. Her head whipped up when he clicked his heels together. Friday bowed low before them and Penny giggled along with Ms. Potts.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Penny. We welcome you to Stark House. If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask.”

“T-thank you, Sir.” She said and stepped back. Penny peered around Ms. Potts’s leg as the two began talking quietly. It wasn’t her intention to eavesdrop but she couldn’t help but overhear some of what they were saying.

“…how is he, Friday?”

“I… haven’t seen him, but Harolds dropped Mr. Stane and him off at the club after you left. Both had bags with them.”

Ms. Potts’s hands curled into fists. Penny wondered at the significance of this and who they were talking about.

“No matter. Penny, give your…” Friday and Ms. Potts shared a look. “Coat to Friday. We will have tea in the blue room first. I’m feeling a bit peckish after this morning.”

She clutched onto her jacket and shuffled back a step. It wasn’t that she was fond of it but the clothing was her only heavy outerwear. No matter how nice they were she couldn’t give it away. Mrs. Delores would be furious and the cold bite of winter was fresh on her mind.

“I-I can keep it.” She said forcing herself not to step back any further. Both adults stopped and turned to face her. Ms. Potts furrowed her brows as she stared at the girl clutching her chest, barely more than rags between her fingers. It was Friday, silent eyes widening with realization, who acted.

He stepped in front of Penny, tall and immovable. His gaze directly on her, sizing her up, before he got down on one knee so he was her height. Penny’s breath caught in her throat.

“Miss Penny, I am only taking it to put in the closet. I promise, you will get it back at any point you need it. Is this acceptable?”

Penny dropped her eyes to the floor unable to take the honest expression Friday was showing her. He waited as she thought. He was offering, not demanding like Mrs. Delores solely did. He came down to her level. Penny wasn’t sure why but the action brought a sort of knot to her chest. Tension lumped up in the middle of her ribs and rose to the back of her throat but still he waited.

Taking her time, Penny untangled her coat and, with care, put it into Mr. Friday’s waiting arms.

“Thank you” She said.

“No, need for thanks, Miss Penny.”

“Come along Penny,” Ms. Potts called from down the hall. Penny made to follow but looked back at her coat still in his arms, torn with what to do.

“One second, Ms. Potts” Friday said before turning. “Follow me, Miss Penny.”

Penny glanced at Ms. Potts noting her nod and began following Mr. Friday down a short hall. The doors were all shut and Penny almost ran into him after he suddenly stopped. He opened a door to the right revealing a rack full of hanging coats.

“Yours will be right here if I’m not around to retrieve it for you. Anytime you need it, feel free to find it here.”

Mr. Friday slide the hanger into each sleeve, taking the time to straighten the hems and wrinkles before he hung it inside the closet next to the other, far longer and nicer, coats. The knot in her throat itched seeing it there. Like it was as worthy as any of the other pieces of clothing in the closet.

“Thank you, Mr. Friday, Sir.” She curtsied again, feeling only slightly silly doing so when she saw his eyes crinkle around the edges and his mustache twitch into a smile.

“And it’s my pleasure, Miss Penny. Again, don’t hesitate to ask for anything no matter how small. Now, I think it’s time for tea and if you’re lucky Mrs. Vern will bring her famous chocolate chip cookies up.”

Mrs. Vern’s cookies lived up to their fame. Penny stopped herself from taking a fourth helping much to the dismay of Ms. Potts. Her encouragement to help herself began bordering on the ridiculous the further along with tea they got.

If the entryway left her speechless, the blue room as Ms. Potts called it, left her breathless. Hand painted, blue wallpaper framed the dark wood moldings and picture frames in the room. Two couches, both printed in subtle silky looking fabrics dominated the middle of the room between the door and a large set of windows overlooking what in summer would be a garden. The natural light filtered in, casting a bright, clear air about the room.

Penny sat at the end of the tan couch closest to the window while Ms. Potts sat across from her on a deep brown couch. Despite what Mr. Friday and Ms. Potts called it, ‘tea’ certainly brought more than the drink alone. A spread of little sandwiches, finger sandwiches she learned, and miniature cakes were laid out on the low table between them.

Her stomach protruded out and Penny was content. They settled into the quiet afternoon atmosphere.

At one point, Penny grabbed one of the sturdier looking cookies and shoved it into her pocket. There was no reason to suspect the ample amount of food would disappear the longer she was here but it was an old habit to have something that might help her later. She was glad Ms. Potts missed her theft.

“I’m afraid that Tony, Mr. Stark that is, is currently out of town at the moment, Penny.” The lady’s gaze turned upon her and Penny hurried a smile.

“It’s okay, Ms. Potts.”

In her mind it was more than okay. She had thought long about this whole situation she was in. Though Ms. Potts said this was all Anthony Stark, Penny wasn’t convinced. So far, the man’s absence spoke louder than any words said on anybody’s part. If she was being honest with herself, she was relieved the looming knight of Stark House hadn’t descended yet. The question of his force – good or bad – remained to be seen and Penny was alright with putting off that reveal until she was on firmer ground. With every step she took, the possibility of smooth terrain seemed more like a dream. This new world, so warm and strange, was welcoming on the front but what lurked behind? Ms. Potts and Mr. Friday were everything kindness and good but would it end up just like Midtown or was there something better here? She dared not hope … too much.

She fisted her hands on her knees and winced as Ms. Potts cleared her throat missing the flash of anger across the woman’s face.

“Penny, he’s… a good man and I’d hope you would be able to see that. But no matter,” She said with a sigh. “How about a tour?”  

Penny nodded but stifled a yawn. Ms. Potts’s gaze softened.

“It has been a rather eventful day. How about we go to your room and we can do the tour later?”

Ms. Potts strode through the long, winding hallways as Penny trailed behind her. Her eyes wandered between the sconces that bordered vast paintings and the furnishings under them. They passed a few people all dressed in matching uniforms who deferred to Ms. Potts while sneaking a curious glance at Penny.

At the end of a particularly long hall, Ms. Potts stopped and turned to her left so they were facing a large set of double leaf doors. Gold inlet flowers laced the large panels coming to a head at the same toned knobs. They looked like a portal into another world.

“Ready?” Ms. Potts asked with a smirk. Without waiting for an answer, she grasped the door handles and pushed forward.

Penny moved first with a small nod of Ms. Potts’s head. She wasn’t quite sure what she expected and hadn’t managed to hope for anything better than the room at Midtown despite all the kindness showed to her so far.

“We weren’t sure what you would like and I sort of got carried away, as Tony said, but no matter. We can change anything you don’t like…”

Her words faded into the background. Penny’s feet carried her across the floor and around the room. The largest bed she’d ever seen stood strong and wide in the center of the room. Green bedding looking as soft as grass was neatly into the edges and two nightstands were placed on either side of the curtains around the headboard of the bed. It was beautiful. And it wasn’t Penny’s. She was positive. It couldn’t be.

“I- Thank you for showing me your room but where shall I be staying, Ms. Potts?”

The woman behind her startled. She opened her mouth before shutting it again and her eyes, sharp as ever, scanned Penny’s face. Ms. Potts turned away toward the large window with pale cream drapes on the other side of the room. Penny shifted her feet back and forth as she waited for an answer. Something hard and churning settled in her stomach when the silence continued. Ms. Potts shoulders fell with an audible exhale. She turned around with a particular smile. Its strained corners made Penny’s heart pound.

“Sweetheart, this is your room.”

Penny looked at the flowers embroidered into the bedding. The delicate but strong looking stems that merged and melded into a chain of green. Using a feather light touch, Penny brushed her fingers against a pale-yellow flower noting the softness of the material. It was too good to be true and yet it was what Ms. Potts wanted her to believe.

“Now then, let’s get you all settled in.”

Warm clouds surrounded her. The material was creamy and smooth and Penny must be in heaven. She stifled another yawn. Ms. Potts laid a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her to rest back on the mound of pillows stacked at her back. Penny rubbed her thumb back and forth against her sheets as she watched Ms. Potts flit about the room, closing the drapes and folding her clothes. Protests were the first things out of her lips but Ms. Potts ignored them all in favor of letting Penny rest. The woman came back to her side beside the bed and tucked an errant corner in.

“Sweet dreams, Sweetheart. Rest all you need.” She squeezed Penny’s shoulder. At the door Ms. Potts turned back before latching the door behind her. “I’m so glad you’re here, Penny.”

Penny fell back against the pillows letting the softness embrace her. The moon was visible from the window across the way and glowed down, illuminating the new room. Despite everything she saw today, all the new people and strange surroundings, the moon was still the same eerie presence. Penny reached out a hand from under the blanket until the tips of her fingers were glazed in the silvery light.

With heavy eyes she wondered what the ever-absent Anthony Stark was doing at the moment. She hadn’t missed the bordering angry and past frustrated looks between Ms. Potts and Mr. Friday. There was also Ms. Potts’s apology to contend with. That barely constrained tension in the corners of her mouth and eyes. What did it mean? The niggling question of why she was here in the first place burst forward from where Penny had tried to stuff it down.

The emblem on the front door and crest she had traced on the papers requesting her here was the first pieces of evidence. But the question was left unanswered without any more besides. Would Anthony Stark in all his mystery hold the answers? Of that, she was sure. Would he be a force for good in her life or would she leave this beautiful place even more broken than before? Penny wasn’t sure and she feared the answer.

Her hands fisted weakly in the sheets before sleep took mercy on her.

Penny was awake before the first rays of light steamed into the room… her room, she reminded herself ignoring the stale feel of the words. It was hers at least while she was here.

Foggy dreams shadowed her mind twisting her stomach. The moon had been shinning on her, lighting the tips of her nose and cheeks. Penny reached for its silver glimmer wanting to catch some warmth. She stretched as far as her small limbs would reach to no avail. The moon was farther and farther away with each breath leaving a numb, cold in her fingers and chest. Penny blinked back tears. Her legs carried her as far as they could go until, muscles quivering and exhaustion seeping in to her bones, she could run no more. The moon in its ethereal radiance was always too far away. She would never reach it.

It was the same dream and she was forced to repeat it over and over for as long as she could remember. The bitter nausea lingered following her sleep. It was pungent and raw, twisting her nerves and she couldn’t stay in bed any longer. With the efficiency of one who had no time to themselves in the mornings, Penny made her bed.

She had to pinch herself on entering the bathroom. If such things could induce delirium this one would take the cake. Penny just stood there for a moment. There was a sink and bathtub and toilet. All to herself. It was beyond anything she had ever seen before. Midtown being built long before she was born and being poor only had a set of outhouses shared with other tenements shared. She didn’t have to wait in line or splash herself with freezing water. This was a few steps away from where she had slept.

Penny made sure to be quick and not waste any unnecessary water despite the temptation to stay in there all day. Ablutions done, Penny stuck her head out the door of her room, looked both ways, and stepped into out. The hall was quiet in a way that Midtown never was. The absence of noise held a restful energy here. There was no lurking danger or cowed children to signify anything was wrong.

While she readied herself that morning, she brainstormed ways she could do to repay Ms. Potts and everyone else. Penny didn’t have money for gifts or materials to make them anything, not that she was crafty enough for something homemade anyway, so in the end, she figured the one thing to offer was herself. If Midtown was good for anything it was honing the domestic skills of its residents. Her thanks given in a more concrete form and her keep earned for the time she was staying. Two birds with one stone, Ned used to say. She missed him so much.

Nodding to herself and setting a brisk pace to distract from the tug on her heartstring thinking of Ned always gave, she set off to find someone who could direct her to supplies. Hallway after hallway passed. Finally, she saw someone wearing an apron. The woman glanced up at the sudden noise of her feet. Her eyes widened at Penny.

“Good morning!” Penny called out with a smile before ducking her head.

“Good morning, Miss.” The woman said.

“I was wondering where…” The question was how to phrase her query in a way she wouldn’t get in trouble. “I was wondering where I could find the cle-”

“Kitchen! Oh, you poor thing. I know just what you need. Follow these stairs down and turn left to go to the stairs. Everything should be there.”

“Thank you.” Penny said. It wasn’t exactly what she wanted but she was sure there would be something to clean there. Her growling stomach was more than happy for the miscommunication.

Penny arrived as instructed and pushed two large swinging doors open. First to look for any cleaning materials. The large kitchen was empty besides the pots and pans hanging from a rack above the counter. A large sink, almost deep as a tub sat in the middle of the counter. She smiled at the plates resting in the basin. She could scrub pans like the best of them.

The ceramic ledge of the sink was too tall for her. She couldn’t reach up and see into the sink. Penny looked around and, after a moment, found a large pot she could use as a stepstool. Carting the heavy thing over strained the muscles in her arms but once on top, she was the perfect height. The water was freezing but it was more a temperature she was used too.

Penny repeated to herself over the soreness of her arms that it was better than Midtown. It was better because she chose this and her pruney fingers would just have to deal with it. It was better because Penny was thanking someone not fearing retribution. She couldn’t quite manage to make the argument stick and there was a part, infinitely small but still there, that wished she lived with a normal family. The solid soap sat at the edge of the counter. Penny itched the reddening skin of her hands and got lost in her work.

The doors swung open without a sound. In shuffled a woman yawning. She wore a large apron and her hair was tied back with a bonnet covering most of it. Her cherry smile, strained a bit because of the early hours widened when she spotted Penny across the kitchen.

“Now what do we have here? Is this the little kit I heard took a liking to my cookies? Miss Penny was it?”

Penny ducked her head to hide the heat creeping onto her face. The woman clucked her teeth and continued over to her.

“Just Penny is fine, Ma’am.”

“Can’t say you’re the first to fall to their flavor, if I say so myself, Penny. Now, can I ask what a little thing like you is doing up so early? Barely anyone else starts the day so early. You may call me Mrs. Vern. No need for all those formalities here, dearie.”

Penny opened her mouth to explain and realized how strange it sounded. How Mrs. Delores would be angry if she spoke about her time at Midtown. Instead she scrubbed harder, determined to finish the pot she was working on. Her stomach rolled as the lady grew closer. She had thought Mrs. Delores’s rosy cheeks were friendly at first and she was proven quite wrong soon after. Mrs. Vern appeared gentle enough but Penny couldn’t help the weary droop in her shoulders. Maybe if she saw her working hard, she wouldn’t get in as much trouble?

Mrs. Vern came around to stand beside her. Penny held her breath. The woman clucked her teeth again and gently took the pot out of her hands, setting it on the counter to dry. She smoothed her hands over Penny’s palms careful of the angered red patches.

“I expect an answer.” The woman said in a kind but stern tone.

“I’m used to getting up and working.”

Penny couldn’t help the slight heat gathering on her cheeks but there was no pity in the woman’s eyes. Just a vague sparkle turned to understanding.

“Yes, I can see that. Thank you for helping. Now, I appreciate you helping my washers but leave the rest to them. Do you want to go back and rest?”

Penny shook her head.

“I expected as much. Well, I can put you to work but no complaints, you here?” She smiled down at Penny who, when beckoned, moved her makeshift stool over to the counter where Mrs. Vern was setting up.

“Mr. Stark isn’t here this morning but Ms. Potts is set to awake early. She normally likes a simple breakfast but I was thinking we could spice it up with some cinnamon rolls this morning. What do you say?”

“I’ve never made cinnamon rolls before, but I would like to help.”

Mrs. Vern paused for a moment. Her eyes missed nothing as Penny drug the pot into place and stepped up. Penny’s sleeve slipped down from her wrist. The woman next to her tutted and motioned to Penny. She tried to ignore it and hid her arm but Mrs. Vern left no room for argument. Penny hesitated a moment more, the pervading fear left from years of hiding presenting, and then brought her arm forward. Not daring to look up.

She winced as Mrs. Vern’s hand brushed against her skin and knew, even without looking, the discoloration was faded but still visible. Penny could feel Mrs. Delores’s hot breath against her neck and winced at the image of her tight scowl and the ticking vein on the temple of her forehead.

Waiting for a reaction left her sweat ladden but Mrs. Vern just shook her head and finished folding her sleeve in neat pleats.

“Alright, child. Let’s get to work.” Her voice was quieter than before but nothing else was different. Penny exhaled. She didn’t want to tip her off something was wrong. Nothing was wrong. It was too much hope to say she didn’t notice, but maybe she would keep it to herself. That’s what other people at Midtown had done.

“First we need to measure the sugar. Grab that bag over there.”

Baking wasn’t much different than the usual cooking, though precision was way more important. Mrs. Vern chided her for her wandering mind and it was only by the wet ingredients Penny began to understand how the materials went together, though how Mrs. Vern knew to add less milk because of the lack of humidity was beyond her.

Penny stood in front of the stove in vigilance. Mrs. Vern commanded the kitchen bouncing between each counter; slicing bread and plating different fruits. She arranged everything in a way far to elaborate for a breakfast meal. The timer went off ringing in her face and Penny jumped up.

“They’re ready!” She squeaked. Mrs. Vern chuckled. She grabbed the oven mitts and, with Penny watching over her shoulder, grabbed the pan out of the oven. Steaming hot buns wafted their delicious scent into the room. With her tongue sticking out, Penny picked up the spoon full of icing and brought it over the buns. Thick, white frosting drizzled over them, melting in with the cinnamon, cloves, and a touch of nutmeg. Her mouth watered at the sight.

The swinging doors burst open. Penny and Mrs. Vern froze holding the spoon with an additional scoop of frosting over the rolls. The former with a wince and the latter with a slight scowl. Mr. Friday straightened the lapels on his jacket and continued into the room. Penny noticed he was slightly breathless.

“Good morning Mrs. Vern, Miss Penny. We hadn’t expected you to be up yet.”  

“You old worry wort. This here is a tough one, I can tell. I bet you were running around, stressing yourself trying to find her?” She said with a laugh and nudged Penny’s shoulder.

Mr. Friday’s left eye twitched but he didn’t deny the accusation. The two razzed each other with good humor. Mr. Friday held onto his stoic demeanor despite Mrs. Vern threatening a ban of her fine cooking.

“Were you looking for me, Mr. Friday?” Penny intervened before they really started up. She slid the pan over to Mrs. Vern before climbing down from her stool.

“Indeed, Ms. Potts will be shortly. Come with me and I will show you to the breakfast room.”

Penny pulled the stool back to the shelf and hefted it up. She heard Mrs. Vern talking in low, quick tones but felt uneasy eavesdropping.

She almost hadn’t believed Ms. Potts would be back. That the woman’s radiant smile was no more than the gleams of moonlight she reached for but could never touch in her dream.

Mrs. Vern beckoned her over. Penny glanced at Mr. Friday, who nodded that they had time before they had to leave. The woman wiped her hands off on a towel.

“Thank you, Mrs. Vern, for letting me help.” She smiled down at Penny.

“Come back anytime, Penny. I can always use more help down here and you’re better than most of the poor excuses for help plus you don’t try and steal a bite as we’re cooking.” Mrs. Vern looked over Penny’s shoulder to Mr. Friday. She had a hard time thinking the man would try and steal any goodies while cooking. Penny strained her neck to look back. His mustache twitched under the dual stare and she couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her. It seemed he had some sticky fingers and not just from all the sugar.

“Come on, Miss Penny.” He said and she thanked Mrs. Vern one more time before leaving the kitchen.

“I’ll be taking the cinnamon rolls up soon so you won’t have to wait!” She called after them.

Penny followed a step behind Mr. Friday. He glanced behind him and, noting she was struggling to keep up, slowed his walk so he was next to her.

“Did you really run around?” She asked to break the silence.

“I never run.” He said with a smirk. “Mrs. Vern exaggerates.”

Penny giggled. Their eyes met and both broke into a smile.

“It appears that Ms. Potts is already here,” He said before they turned a corner. He opened the doors to let them into the room. Sure enough, Ms. Potts was sitting at the head of the table, a cup of tea raised to her mouth.

“How did you know?” She asked with a start bordering on a whine. There was a hint of admiration in her voice she hadn’t expected. Mr. Friday just smirked and tapped his head. Penny was about to ask what that meant but Ms. Potts smiled as she spied them enter. Her earlier worry, the tight knot in her chest, eased as Ms. Potts spoke to her like there wasn’t a worry in the world.

“Penny! Good morning. Come and have some breakfast.”

“Thank you, Mr. Friday.” She said to the butler who after placing some newspapers on the table left.

Hope you're all doing well. This story (and my others) are not abandoned just more slow going at the moment because of life.

Next Chapter Eight:

#irondad #irondad AU #peter parker #peter is female #penny parker #Annie au #new chapter #mentions of past abuse

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elizabeth-234 · 3 years

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New Chapter up!

A Night She won't Soon Forget

Summary: Millionaire Tony Stark has to take in an orphan to promote his image. When Penny Parker is selected, both their worlds are turned upside-down. (This is loosely based off of Annie)

AO3

Fan Fiction

Chapters (tumblr): One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six

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elizabeth-234 · 3 years

Text

A Night She Won’t Soon Forget

Previous Chapter Five: A Day She Receives Some News

Hi all. Hope you are doing well. Here is the next chapter, Enjoy!

Chapter Six: A Day He Begins to Move

“You can stop here, Harold.”

His driver looked toward the walkway. His eyes scanned over the decrepit buildings, taking in the address which was at least five blocks away from where he was scheduled to drop off his employer. Harold raised his eyes to the mirror so he could gaze at the man sitting hunched over in the back.

“Are you sure, sir? I can drop you off at the regular location.” 

“I want to walk the rest of the way. Drop me off here.” Tony motioned to the open spot between parked vehicles and nodded at his driver’s kind sentiment. “And get back to your family. It’s Christmas time or so I hear.” 

Harold sighed but did as requested after relaying a genuine thanks. Tony supposed by now that the man was used to his eccentricities. He knew Harold wouldn’t put up too much of argument no matter how long lasting his sighs were. Sure enough, Harold pulled the car over and Tony stepped out onto the sidewalk before leaning through the front window Harold had undoubtedly rolled down to give some last remark on getting home at a decent hour.

Before the man could speak Tony nodded to the seat he had occupied moments ago. “There’s an envelope with your bonus in the back. Treat your family to something nice this holiday.”

Harold tipped his hat and with a wavering voice Tony pretended not to hear thanked him for the gift.

“Happy holidays, Sir.”

Tony patted the edge of the window twice and stepped back from the car. Harold waved before driving off. The last of the car’s lights disappeared around the corner in a puff of smog. Tony grabbed the flask out of the pocket sown into the inside of his coat. The liquid burned his throat on its descent and quickly spread its warming effects in his belly and limbs. He pulled his coat tight around his body in order to stop the rest of the heat from escaping on his walk back home.

The brisk winter air around sought its way into his bones despite his precautions but Tony continued at a leisurely pace. Wind whipped around his frame carrying more than ice into his bones. Tony could feel his memories sweeping out of the dark recesses of his mind. He couldn’t tell if it was the wind, so similar to that night about a year ago or just the festivities decorated around him. There were sparks of light in the windows peeking out from a curtain. The scent of gingerbread and pine infused into the breeze. It was enough to make him shudder against the onslaught of childhood memories and one particular vision of the frozen lake in his upstate home.

Tony shook his head and tried to focus on other thoughts. The previous year he spent working. The business was waiting like a reliable friend back in the city for him and his paperwork spent the rest of the holidays as companions. That and the drink remained another old friend. His desk was bowing under the weight of all those friendships by the end of the previous year and when Mrs. Vern arrived back at the house, bringing with her a blessing of fresh meals, Tony could have kissed her bright cheeks.

He remembered stumbling down to the kitchen to find, for the first time in took long, his cook finishing up supper. Not one to take much stock in station and maybe noticing the dark circles under his eyes, the woman ordered Tony to chop vegetables. He couldn’t help the pleased smile that came across his face at Mrs. Vern’s stubborn reluctance to accept his compliments. After another, more exaggerated sated groan she finally subsided and pinched his cheek before taking his empty plate. His bed dipped under his weight and he slept at peace for the first time that holiday.

The coming days saw the house opening again as the season ended. Staff arrived back leaving little room for errant thoughts and wayward breezes. Pepper gifted him a sensible present of carved, wooden pens. They sat, gleaming in the firelight on the corner of his desk close enough to reach out and touch. He caught up with Rhodey over dinner, reminisced and laughed until his sides were sore. And when business caught his friends’ attention again, Obadiah was there at the club with an open bottle and listening ear. Confined in the walls of the club and bottle he created his own oblivion. He found the events of the cottage faded into nothing more than an unpleasant dream by the time the new year arrived.

Now, a year later the holidays were back much to his chagrin. He decided to stay in the city this year though it had nothing to do with last year, Tony assured himself. They were having a guest at Stark House. An interloper.

Like most things in his life, it began as one of Pepper’s ideas. But this time it went too far. Her response was to throw the words back in his face. “This is a direct retaliation to what the press is printing about you, Tony.” She said, also adding she held no interest in whether what the press was saying was true or not. It wasn’t her business, she claimed. Though Tony noted her hands fisted at her sides.

Pepper relayed the plan with a casual indifference that left Tony itching to yell he would give her the business and everything along with it if she wanted. He was tempted to tell her everything and promise to never take a drink again, but instead he stayed silent. He’d listened as she explained they were inviting, fostering was her exact word, a child for the holidays and ‘maybe longer’ she added with a mysterious smile. The child was to come as soon as possible after the paperwork was filed.

Tony’s job started the moment the orphan showed up. He was to be waiting with open arms and a smile, and from there on out the kid was to be showered with gifts. They were to go on outings always making sure the press, and therefore the public, would see how generous he was. The throne they so foolishly tried to cast off of his head would be cemented and at the end, mission succeeded or not, the kid would be sent back. Tony’s life could go back to the way it had been, Pepper promised. He sighed running a hand through his hair.

How was that fair to either of them?

The first surprise will be Pepper’s, he thought. There was not a single bone in his body that wanted to be home tomorrow. He certainly wasn’t going to be there when the child was brought back to Stark House. His stomach had been in a constant state of turmoil since Pepper informed him of the plan, one he didn’t think would be cured by the presence of said child.

No, it was for the best. Obadiah heard the tail end of their conversation and with a parting look of thinly concealed disgust from Pepper they were left to their own devices. He poured them drinks under his friend’s concentrated eyes. Tony felt them as he often did with his friend. Their warm constancy was a balm compared to the acquaintances he was surrounded with for business. Obadiah’s been a family friend since he can remember. His presence has always lingered on the pages of his life.

His friend leaned back in his seat, hands resting in a casual manner on the armrests of their seats before he spoke.

“I suppose I should offer you congratulations.” Obadiah tipped his glass up before draining it with a flick of his wrist. Tony hoisted himself out of the seat and went to refill the glass leaving a quirk of his eye as indication for the other man to continue. “I hear you’re going to be a father. How sweet and so in line with the holiday season, too.”

The man smiled into his glass when Tony scowled at him from his seat. Tony shifted, crossing his legs before moving to sit against the back of the seat. His eyes focused on his fingers playing with the leather divots on the armrests. Of course, he heard. Obadiah had a knack for being in the right place at the right time; always knew the relevant information. It never failed to lodge itself under his skin when they were younger and his father would tell Obadiah something before him. Not a twitch or grimace betrayed him today. Tony had long learned to accept his friend’s charming persuasion and on occasion be thankful for it. The bastard’s smile had gotten him out of enough trouble over the years.

He frowned at the pointed comment. The addition of a child, one he neither wanted nor accepted, would pair disastrously with his life. It would be best, he thought staring at the bald head of his friend, if they spent as much time at the club as possible. This way the child could have run of the estate and he would be preoccupied elsewhere. He laughed off Obadiah’s teasing and the afternoon faded into a blur of alcohol and gossip.

A burst of wind brought his wandering thoughts to a head. Tony turned the corner and sped up his walk at the sight of the townhouse. The change in wind left the clouds scattering across the dark mass of sky away from the now naked moon. He stopped to catch his breath. His hands clutched and twisted the lapels of his coat without thinking, pulling them away from his throat in a poor attempt to relieve the strange pressure building in his chest. An image of a smooth, icy pond entered his mind sending a spiral of tingling in his fingers and toes he’s certain had nothing to do with the cold. Wobbly legs carry him forward as fast as possible in a sad attempt to get to the door quickly. Weight compressed, weighed against his chest. Tony couldn’t breathe. His vision swarmed. Sidewalks became a sheet of ice and he was almost lost in the despair until his hand grasped onto the door knob.

Tony closed it behind him with haste locking out the cold and everything along with it. Friday hadn’t made it to the door yet and he was grateful to have a moment to compose himself. He tried to even his breathing and unclenched his hands but the pressure in his chest, the almost manic expression remained in his eyes for hours to come.

Tony managed to straighten his coat and scarf when Friday arrived up the stairs.

“Good Evening, Sir. May I take your coat?” 

Friday ignored the silence and stepped forward, taking his coat and outer things in hand. Tony stuffed his hands into his pockets to warm them, not because they were trembling. He clapped Friday on the shoulder before heading to the stairs. It wasn’t until he arrived at the first step, Tony turned around. Friday was hanging up and brushing down his outerwear with the precision and snap of his wrist well practiced.

“Friday,” He cleared his throat. “Thank you again, for staying the holidays. I know you normally go stay with your sister.”

“Anything to help, Sir.” He said with a nod. It was said in such a way Tony wasn’t sure if he was just talking about the extra hours. Friday smiled at his obvious discomfort and wished him goodnight. With a pivot around Tony made his way to his office.

Once situated in the leather chair by the fireplace, drink in hand, Tony withered. His back drooped and his eyes freed from observation, expressed their full state of anxiety. Who cared if he poured himself another drink? Who cared if his eyes, unfocused and hazy one moment focused too sharply and tunneled the next? He was safe in his office, this chair. Safe from the vicious rumors and lingering gazes. Safe from his always far too kind staff and their pitying expressions. Ensconced under the light of the fire, all he had to worry about was himself.

Friday knew him. Brought on before Tony was a child, since his mother married into the Stark name, Friday knew him possibly better than anyone. He’d watched and raised Tony, instilled in him kindness and goodness. So, it he knew what Tony had become, how far he had fallen. Tony scraped his hand along his face.

As the night wore on he sank deeper into the chair. His thoughts spiraled around themselves, circuses and snarls take over before he knows it. His cheek stung with a phantom memory. Tony stumbled to the fireplace, wrenching himself out of the chair and hurling his glass into the flames. The amber liquid sputters in the fire and drips off the glass pieces before smoking. Starved for a full, satisfying breath, he leaned against the mantel. An errant, curious thought about the child who would be staying with him for the foreseeable future.

A headache bloomed and ripened startling fast at the onset of fierce knocking. Unlike her usual knocks, Pepper was pounding at his door with no appearance of mercy being granted. Tony groaned at the newly christened sun of the day and pushed himself from his desk.

“I’m coming.” He said loud enough for her to hear and smoothed his hair back where it had fallen in sleep. With a grin, no it was not forced, he opened the door. “I’ve had many pleasant awakenings, Ms. Potts. This would not be counted among them.” Her scowl was diluted by a pretty blush at his words which made her scowl that much more at him.

“I don’t have time for your maturity, or lack thereof today. You did get the letter I sent right? I left it on your,” She rummaged around a pile of papers until, with a click of her tongue, she held up the unopened letter, “Desk.”

Pepper shook her head. “Never mind. I don’t have time to be annoyed.” She looked him up and down, focusing on the wrinkles on his shirt. “You don’t look the best but it will have to do. Let’s go.”

Tony stayed frozen where he opened the door. Unbeknownst to him the schedule for the day lay forgotten at the corner of his desk under the newspaper.

“Go where?”

“We’re going to Midtown Orphanage today, remember? Pick up your charge for the holidays.”

At a young age, one of the first things he noticed about Pepper was she lacked the ability to be still. He watched as she grabbed an emergency tie out of one of his drawers and threw it at him remembering the way she would run about the garden even under their parents disapproving gaze. How hours later they would enter the dining room for dinner with creased clothing and muddy shoes, smiling for days no matter the pointed comments they were thrown at the end of.

Tony hung the tie to the back of the chair and stands there regarding her – he thought the word friend but it feels lacking somehow - while she cleans up after him. He can’t remember a time where she wasn’t moving, wasn’t pushing herself to do better; be better. When they were kids she would goad him out of his moods and into the garden, older and wilder they would explore their estates free from duty for a few more years, and when Tony was sent off to college, Pepper worked that much harder at Russel Sage.

There was never a time where she hasn’t had some touch in his life. Disapproving though Pepper is much of the time she has never stopped believing in him and that was why Tony had begun planning.

“Look, I’ve decided I’m not going with you.”

She stopped moving and looked at him, eyes drawn together with a frown lacing her face. There was disappointment in those eyes, an expression he’d seen all too much recently and Tony swallowed back an apology. This was for the best.

“Tony…” 

“I’m not going today. I’ll go along for the rest of it but today this person, kid, deserves to have a nice holiday. They won’t be able to do that with me hanging about like a grumpy old… well, like my father.”

Pepper tensed her shoulders.

“Tony, you’re never in the way. You need to come.”

He waited until her shoulders fell then he walked to his desk, taking his pocketbook out.

“I appreciate what you’re doing for the company and in extension, for me. I Just want you both to have a nice day. Here’s some money, go buy the kid something nice. Whatever you want.”

“This is ridiculous, Tony. You said you would be there.”

“It doesn’t count if you used that look you have. The one where you scrunch up your nose.”

Despite the pit growing in his stomach he laughed unbothered at the way she crossed her arms in front of her.

“That pout right there. It normally works wonders and I would be persuaded to sell my right arm but I am, unfortunately, firm in my position.”

Pepper ignored him and stuffed the money into her purse after grabbing her coat. She walked to the door, only looking back when she’d crossed the threshold.

“And don’t forget you have meetings early tomorrow, I wouldn’t want you drinking so much you were unavailable. Again.” 

Pepper’s heels click against the floor as she stormed out punctuated by the slam of his door. Tony winced. There are papers she had thrown down in random order on his desk. Thankful for once she didn’t read through them, Tony sat down again and got to work. The time had come to reward her ambition, her dreams. He was vastly aware of his own limitations and shortcomings, in most respects, but this was something he could do for her. With the business on shaky ground because of his latest stunt at the club, it was the perfect time to begin.

They would both be busy today.

Russell Sage is a real women's college in New York that started in 1916, which is crazy to think about it being so recent.

Hope you enjoyed. Let me know what you think! Our two characters will meet soon, never fear.

Thank you!

#Penny Parker #Peter is female #Female Peter parker #irondad #spiderson #AU #marvel AU #orphan Peter #Tony has a heart #pepper potts #spiderman fanfic #peter parker fanfic #no powers #angst #a night she won't soon forget

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elizabeth-234 · 3 years

Text

Done!

The Hourglass

Summary: In a world where his family is gone, Peter believes he is living on borrowed time, but when he runs into Tony Stark that will all change. Will he fight for more time or is all lost?

AO3

Chapter One: Ripples in Water

Chapter Two: Kidnapped? Kidnapped!

Chapter Three: Broken Promises

Chapter Four: Running out of Time

Chapter Five: Honey Bear and Tony to the Rescue

Chapter Six: Dreams

Chapter Seven: He’s Warming up to Them

Chapter Eight: What Peter Carried

Chapter Nine: For the Great Good Part One

Chapter Ten: For the Greater Good Part Two

Chapter Eleven: Where in the World is Peter?

Chapter Twelve: The President, Shrek, and Sweater Vests

Chapter Thirteen: Trust in me

Chapter Fourteen: Moments in Time

Chapter Fifteen: Down Once More

Chapter Sixteen: Confessions

Chapter Seventeen: Kaleidoscope of Memories

Chapter Eighteen: Going Back

Chapter Nineteen: Homesick

Chapter Twenty: Home

Chapter Twenty-One: Turning Back Time

Chapter Twenty-Two: Finale

#fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #time travel #irondad #spiderson #rhodey is the best #tony stark #peter parker

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elizabeth-234 · 3 years

Text

The Hourglass

Previous Chapter Twenty-One: Turning Back Time

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Wow, I can't believe this one is done! Can you believe this was supposed to be a one-shot for whumptober? Thanks everyone who read silently, those who left comments, and those who favorites or followed. I appreciate everyone and anyone. Hope your new year is off to a good start. Much love, E.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Finale

1992

Peter was present enough to realize his heart was breaking.

They walked side by side to the beginning of the path, staring down the hill as the wind swept through the trees and over the frozen water. The cold breeze pooled around their bodies, separating them in their own private storms before pushing them together again.

Peter’s shoulders slumped forward, his arms clung around his torso. He told himself it was for warmth and not because of the aching in his chest. The uncomfortable itching in the back of his throat was enough cause for concern but with every step they took toward the lake a painful tearing rose up in his heart.

He was leaving. Though he knew it as fact, it didn’t stop him from worry. He had no more present of future here. 1992 would once again become a part of his past. It was relieving in a way until he remembered the people would be in the past as well.

The hope he would find them alive and well burned as the tiniest flame within him. There was no alternative as far as Peter was concerned. Rhodey and Tony were fine. They were alive and happy and so much older. He cracked a small smirk at the last thought.

“I can’t believe you’re a 2000’s baby.” Tony whined and drew his attention to his friends.

“You don’t even know what that means.” Rhodey said

“It just sounds so drab. And to think we’re already out of college and he’s in high school, almost 30 years from now. We’re going to be so old then.” Rhodey also crinkled his nose at Tony’s statement. Peter sighed at them with soft eyes. He shifted his feet against the pavement.

“It’s a long time and you’ll probably forget all about me but…”  

“Shut up, kid.” Tony said, him and Rhodey squared their shoulders to face him. Their solid wall blocked most of the wind and Peter smiled at their unintentional protection. They were always looking out for him.

“We will never forget you. We will look and find anyway to help you we can. You’re a weird one, Peter, and so are we. We’re family.” Tony was solemn but in agreement with his friend. Peter saw his fists, peeking out from his jacket. The solidarity in the words made it that much harder to leave. He wanted to believe them, to believe they would come and find him in the future before all the bad happened.

He pictured them arriving at May’s tiny apartment. Her suspicion of the two older men and how they knew he son would be present until she saw how good they were. They would squeeze into their tiny kitchen and cook meals together, laugh together, and live as a family. He knew they could save her.

But he also knew that wouldn’t happened. Peter had already lived through a world without her and them. He knew what awaited him on the other side. May was gone no matter how hard he wished.

What he had to do was have trust in something he couldn’t tell: the future. He remained blissfully unaware of what was in the future and was happy about it. That was one space time rule he didn’t want to break.

Peter stared at his friends noticing the dark circles and concerned eyes that made his stomach warm. It seemed he wasn’t as good of an actor as he thought. Peter decided to give them one last present. Some comfort to hold while he was gone throughout the years. They could think he would be safe and happy. They wouldn’t be burdened by the events they hadn’t seen come to fruition yet. Sometimes ignorance is bliss and as he hugged his friends, Peter wished someone could do the same for him. Their arms squeezed him until it hurt to breath but he didn’t let go.

Peter blinked and he was standing on the shore of the lake.

2017

They left the hospital together in more or less one piece. Bandages and medicine were their new companions but they were free to leave after a week in the white, sterile halls. Peter couldn’t care about anything else.

Tony scanned a badge along the wall and the door to their apartment opened. The three of them settled in as if they had been doing it their whole lives. Rhodey organized the entry way and all of their bags before grabbing the first aid kit to change their bandages, Tony tinkered with the suits, and Peter went straight for the kitchen to make tea and bring snacks. He could hear Rhodey forcing Tony to stop fidgeting and rest.

The air was warm and full of words left unsaid.

Tony and Rhodey gave each other enough looks for Peter to know they were having one of those secret conversations. So, he gave them the space they needed. Peter wandered down the hall to his room, stepping into the dark room. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. It was exactly the same as it had always been since he’d moved in and Peter understood at long last that it was fully and completely his. It was no mere guest room or a temporary stay. He had always been a part of this place; a part of them. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes as he beheld the blue walls and bedding.

“Ready, kid?” Tony asked from the doorway.

Peter nodded and took Tony’s hand. He felt like an unruly toddler grabbing on to the warm fingers but he marveled again at the strength in his hand once more just like when they first met. So much change but that was constant. Tony pulled him through the hallway until they reach Rhodey checking over the bags.

Their apartment, the little safe space they spent afternoons watching movies, evenings cooking, and time growing together wasn’t safe anymore. Ross was gone now, safe in some place he would never see the light of day again but more might follow in his footsteps. They needed to move on. Together. There was no need to fixate on the past or future. There was no waiting to go back or forward anymore. They were together and could be together in the present.

Peter closed his eyes and imagined the sand floating, the grit rubbing across his skin. The weightless falling. He opened his eyes to find himself in the same spot, Tony and Rhodey staring at him. He shrugged with a bashful smile.

“Just saying one last goodbye.”

Tony’s hand squeezed his. Peter reached over to grab Rhodey’s hand.

“Let’s go, Peter.”

The three of them left their small haven behind. Relics of their multiple pasts sitting left but not forgotten. The three friends moved toward the future. Peter looked up at them and his chest almost burst. He’d fought for their time, their futures, and now with his family beside him, they could do anything. Peter smiled and held the feeling close to his heart.

The End.

Thank you!

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#peter parker #tony stark #iron man #james rhodes #rhodey #war machine #spiderman #marvel time travel #marvel AU #mcu #time travel #iron dad #iron family #the hourglass #last chapter

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